By Spangled Starlight Sheen
by Sache8
Summary: In the advent of a new Empire, war and politics rock Naboo and threaten to sever time-tested bonds of tradition and family. Princess Sabé Naberrie struggles to hold her family together while burdened with a secret of her own. SabeObiWan Ep.III focus.
1. Attack

**TITLE** - By Spangled Starlight Sheen

**AUTHOR** - Sache8

**RATING** - Teen

**GENRE** - Romance, Adventure, Drama.

**DISCLAIMER** - If Star Wars were mine, I definitely wouldn't be in such desperate need of a job. :-)

**SUMMARY** - In the advent of a new Empire, war and politics rock Naboo and threaten to sever time-tested bonds of tradition and family. Princess Sabé Naberrie struggles to hold her family together while burdened with a secret of her own.

* * *

**Author's Preface**: This story is the third in a trilogy that begins with Dance With the Stars, a coming of age story about young Princess Sabé Naberrie set during _The Phantom Menace_ that tells the beginning of her friendship with Obi-Wan Kenobi. (I would also like to say, for the record, that I invented that title a long time before the reality TV show of a similar title came into existence). The story continues with Forget Me Not, a pre _Attack of the Clones_ adventure/romance story with four different couples that tells how Sabé and Obi-Wan's friendship blossoms into love. It is not necessary to read those stories, if you choose not to, but I would obviously recommend it. If not, here are the basics of this slightly alternate Naboo:

Sabé, in addition to being the decoy we all know and love from canon, is also Padmé's twin sister. They have two other siblings, a younger sister Claria and a younger brother Richard. In this version of Naboo, the Naberrie family have been in power for almost 300 years. While technically anyone can run for office, only members of the Naberrie family ever get elected. After Padmé's two canon terms in office, she is succeeded by her brother Richard, who is nearing the end of his first term when this story begins.

* * *

**BY SPANGLED STARLIGHT SHEEN**

_By Sache8_

_And now they never meet, in grove or green,  
__By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen_.

William Shakespeare, _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act 29-30.

* * *

**Chapter One - **_**Attack**_

In Theed, it was early spring. The hills around the city were already vibrant green. The lone watchman paid them no mind. He merely appreciated that they, like he, were steady. Constant. Patient.

Wedged under a balustrade barely wide enough to conceal him, the assassin pondered the game of chance he was playing. Less than a day remained before he'd be forced to leave this hiding place for need of water. Would Richard Naberrie's caution endure so long?

He could return, of course. Those who had hired him would be more than happy to smuggle him into the Parliament building yet again, past the royal security forces on supreme high alert, but every instance would further the chances of the scheme being discovered. If only they'd come to him in the first place, he could have worked without the bother of Naberrie's inconveniently high level of vigilance. After all, his successful assassination of the boy's mother had never been prosecuted.

Four days. The King of Naboo had not set a foot outside his palace in over four days. Hardly an effective means of governing a populace that was every bit on edge as their sovereign. The assassin smiled and tapped his gloved finger thoughtfully against the casing of his weapon. On second thought, perhaps those that had hired them knew better what they were playing at than they let on. It made little difference to him, as long as they delivered on their ample promises when he was finished.

Movement in the distance caught his attention. On the upper eastern balcony, someone was emerging who wasn't part of the security patrols that he had memorized to the minute. He slowly lifted his macrobinoculuars, setting them on their highest setting. What he saw there gave him pause. It was not a hesitation of conscience, but of possibility. There were, in fact, two figures on the balcony, one tall and one very short, both with red hair that made them painfully conspicuous. The queen and her young daughter.

The assassin licked his lips, pondering. He was already dangerously in need of food and water. Escape he could still manage, but only just. He did not think Naberrie was going to show, but how much damage would it inflict upon the prospects of the royal family if Richard's queen and two heirs were threatened in one blow? His eyes rested briefly on the queen's softly bulging belly as he thought this last.

Those that had hired him had not cited the queen as a target. Indeed, they had cited none but Naberrie. On the other hand, the assassin comprehended the ultimate goals of his employers, perhaps more than they realized. The psychological damage that he could inflict on the government and the people with this opportunity would be of more long-lasting value than perhaps they had ever possibly considered.

Anyway, he certainly had nothing to lose by not following orders to the letter. He was only a weapon for hire, after all.

With a grim set to his lips, the hunter took aim and fired.

* * *

An explosion rocked the palace.

Immediately Richard was on his feet, the legislation he'd been poring over all morning forgotten on the desk, a wild fear springing up in his chest.

"Yvenne," he muttered under his breath. He made a lunge for the door.

"No, Your Highness!" With sharp authority, Richard was knocked back two paces by an insistent shove from the captain of the security detail. "You know the protocol. Accompany us, please."

Richard could still feel the tremors in the floor, and he glared at the captain before complying with the order. Rage was already burgeoning in his stomach, rage and frustration, so potent they almost blotted out the fear. This was the sixth incident in two years.

They proceeded with all haste toward the center of the palace to the durasteel-reinforced turbolift, which took them down thirty stories to the subterranean bunker in less than a minute. Richard rushed into the room and looked around frantically. Yvenne and Sioned were nowhere to be seen.

"I want to know what's going on, Barris," he demanded, whirling around on the commander of his security forces, who had joined him en route. "I want to know my family is safe. Now!"

"Your Highness," Barris said with a crisp bow and fled the room, leaving Richard to pace alone under the watchful eye of two of the security team.

He couldn't rightly justify his fears. Yvenne knew the dangers and the protocols just as well as he did. Still, they had quarreled this morning, which was hardly unusual of late, but when she was angry at him she tended to behave recklessly, and they should have been at the bunker before him.

The idea of his last moments with his wife being spent on angry words was a nightmare that Richard would not be able to shake until he saw with his own two eyes that she was safe. He didn't permit these grim thoughts to extend as far as his children. But nothing could lessen the hammering of his heart while he waited. The silent minutes slipped past like eons.

At last, the doors of the bunker slid open and Richard turned with frantic expectation.

"Daddy!" The small figure, crowned in red curls, came hurtling towards him, and Richard was on his knees in an instant, scooping up his daughter in relief.

"Sioned! Thank Elsinoré," he muttered into her hair. He pulled back to study her face, smeared with dust and tear tracks. "Are you hurt?"

She sniffled. "No," she said bravely, another tear spilling over onto her cheek. She reached up to swipe at her nose with the back of her hand.

He reached up and brushed the tear away with his thumb. "That's my brave girl." Then he looked up behind her, at Commander Barris who had returned with her. "The queen?" he demanded.

Barris looked as discomfited as ever he possibly could. "She'll be fine. She's in the secure medical facilities."

Richard gathered Sioned in his arms and rose to his feet again, his expression hard even as he felt himself go pale. "What happened?" he demanded.

"An explosion, my lord. That's all we know for certain at this point. The queen and her highness were on the eastern balcony," here he nodded briefly at Sioned. "The attack took out the support pillars two levels below them, causing extreme structural damage. The queen was hit by quite a lot of incidental debris."

"Take me to her."

"My lord—"

"Barris, those medical facilities were designed to be secure for me as well as my family. Even if they weren't I wouldn't waste time arguing with you. I command you to take me to my wife."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

When Jessa Kennich had landed on Naboo, she had never welcomed the open sky so much, even if it did feel unreasonably colder than any sky in so-called summer ought to feel. On the other hand, a chilly summer on a strange planet was far warmer than the unyielding and inescapable frigidness of space.

The journey from Commenor had not been easy; five days of steerage class transportation would have been grueling enough by herself. With a demanding six-year-old in tow it was enough to drive her to insanity. Jessa had never traveled offworld in her entire life, and this experience was doing little to recommend the experience. Perhaps to those with better means might find it enjoyable, but when credits were scarce, comfort and convenience might as well have been hidden in the very core of a gas giant for all they could be achieved.

If Larkin had hated the transport, she hated the spaceport even more. Jessa really couldn't blame her. It was no place fit for a young child, especially one who'd been rather scantily fed for the past week. Jessa hadn't counted on so many obstacles in customs after they'd landed. They would have been here a full day at least if there hadn't been any problems, and as Jessa's luck would have it, there was some kind of administrative glitch with her visa and she was stuck here until they figured it out.

The only bright side was that she was saving money on lodging, but she was starting to panic a little. She only had six more days to accomplish what she'd come for before she was due back at work. If she didn't make it back, she would lose her position—a position that had been very hard-won in the first place. She literally could not afford to fail.

At present, Jessa was sitting with her back against a dull gray wall trying to fight off sleep. Any minute, she told herself. Any minute they would call her number. She clutched the small piece of paper possessively in her hand, as though someone might snatch it from her if they caught her napping. Jessa had been watching the numbers for service climb for the past four hours. It was almost her turn. She didn't want to miss her chance by being unconscious when the moment finally came.

Plus, of course, falling asleep right now would make her a bad mother. She did her best to ignore the twinge of regret that, at present, her priorities were feeling a bit wrongly ordered between those two criteria.

"Mommy?"

Jessa jerked again, glanced at the number on the overhead display and sighed in relief. Still three to go. She looked at her daughter.

"What is it?"

Larkin's dark brown hair was the same color as her father's but lacked his bold curl. Her eyes, bright green, were Jessa's. Jessa also suspected she'd contributed the girl's pouty mouth, both in shape and how it was used. All of Larkin was in need of a good, hot scrubbing, with plenty of soap. Jessa harbored strong suspicions that she was not faring much better, and for this reason had avoided looking at her reflection in the mirror whenever possible after the second day.

"Can I have another cracker?"

Jessa stretched slightly and reached down for her large bag. It was crammed to the brim with as much she'd been allowed to bring on the transport, and it was mostly Larkin's things, almost all her clothes and favorite toys. There wasn't a lot of room for snacks. She reached into a side pocket and pulled out the crinkled package.

"There's only one left, sweetie," she said tiredly, pulling out the heavily crumbling cracker and handing it to her daughter. Her own stomach rumbled and she tried not to dwell on her lack of breakfast. After this, she promised, she'd break down and take Larkin to one of the vendors for something hot.

Larkin did not seem thrilled but accepted the cracker without comment, munching on it quietly. When she finished, she looked around. "How much longer?"

Jessa glanced at the wall. Two more. "Not much longer now," she said with a yawn.

"And then we can leave?"

"I don't know."

"I'm tired of this place."

"I know you are. So is mommy."

"Then we should just leave. Let's go back home to Commenor."

"We can't go back yet. Don't you want to see Naboo?"

"I saw it from the window. I want to go home."

"Do you remember why we came to Naboo?"

The child gave a noncommittal shrug. "To see my daddy," she repeated by rote. Her attention was now half preoccupied by a travel poster somewhere above Jessa's head. Jessa couldn't remember which glorious, pristine Naboo locale it was advertising. She'd only glanced at it when she'd taken this seat and that was four hours ago.

"Don't you want to see your daddy?" Jessa asked. "I'm sure he'll want to see you."

"You said he doesn't know about me."

Inwardly, Jessa cursed her daughter's sharp memory and her own tendency to be too frank with her. She closed her eyes, trying to maintain her patience. "Yes, but your daddy is a very nice man, and once I tell him about you I know he'll want to see you."

"And after that can we go home?"

Here, Jessa hesitated. It was true that she was generally straightforward with her daughter, but even she had her limits. If she told Larkin the truth, the odds that the girl would throw a royal fit sufficient to wake the dead were extremely high, almost a given. A patented response of mommy vagueness was called for here. "We'll see," she said. It was, to a certain extent the truth. She didn't rightly know if things would go the way she intended.

The overhead number changed again. Somewhat stiffly, Jessa shifted her weight and made to stand on her feet. "Come on, sweetie," she said to Larkin, holding out her left hand as soon as she was crouching. "We're going to be next." Her daughter took her hand and Jessa put her line ticket in her mouth just long enough to swing the over-heavy bag onto her shoulder. Then together mother and daughter headed for the counter.

They had almost arrived when, without warning, a klaxon began to sound. The lights flashed in colors of green and bright white and Larkin gave a small shriek and clung closer to Jessa, threatening to overbalance her.

A pre-recorded voice came over the loudspeaker. "Attention, attention. Security lockdown, code green. Security lockdown, code green. All personnel please report to your station. Repeat, Security lockdown, code green. All personnel please report to your stations."

The steadily pulsing light continued, and the handful of customs agents diligently working behind the counter went into a tizzy, closing and locking their windows and creating a general sense of panic and unease in all those around them. Quick as blinking they were outside the counter in the common area and rushing past the hoard of testy customers. Jessa seized one of them by the arm as he rushed by.

"What's code green?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, I can't talk right now," he said, firmly removing her arm and pressing on. Jessa bit her tongue to keep from swearing.

A man nearby seemed to be holding some kind of portable radio or communications unit up to his ear. He pulled it away and glanced at Jessa. "It's a protocol set in place within the last year and a half," he informed her grimly. He nodded at the radio. "There's been another attempt on the king's life. They'll keep us in lockdown in case the assassin tries to escape through the spaceport. Best get comfy. We're going to be here another day at least."

Jessa dropped her bag onto the floor and tried not to cry. This time, she did swear.

* * *

Richard was greeted on the medical level by a small but frenzied staff, and the chief medic, who told him in respectful but clipped terms that she did not have room for him and Sioned inside the room where they were treating Yvenne, and made him wait outside. He waited there dutifully for the better part of an hour.

Finally, the chief medic emerged at a pace very much to Richard's liking. She gave a quick curtsey but did not complete it before she began reporting. She did not raise her eyes.

"Your Majesty, the queen is stable. She suffered severe bruising to the arms and legs, three cracked ribs and a mild concussion. She will recover, my lord."

Another third of Richard's worry evaporated. His mouth felt dry as he forced himself to ask the last question. "And the baby?"

Finally the medic lifted her eyes. He could see her fear, but it was a remnant only. "There are some things we cannot know for certain, my lord, but by every test at my disposal indicates that your son will suffer no lasting harm." She did not smile. Richard perceived that she was still much too shaken to surrender to relief.

Richard could not help but do so, however. "Thank you," he said, reaching out and putting a grateful hand on the medic's shoulder. "May I see her?"

"Certainly, my lord. But then she must rest. Her body has a lot of work ahead."

"Of course."

With some trepidation, he followed the medic around another couple of corners. He could hear the beeping of the monitors before they arrived in the room. As they rounded the corner, he noted a couple of med droids working quietly in the corners before his eyes found his wife.

Rage filled the corners of his body again at the sight of her, quickly taking up its usual residence now that the fear was gone. Yvenne lay on the bed, eyes closed. A bandage was wrapped tightly around her head, plastering her copper-colored hair to her face. There were nasty-looking scratches on her cheeks and her neck, and she was breathing shallowly. His eyes rested briefly on her pregnant stomach, and a cold chill washed over him at the thought of what he had very nearly lost.

Yvenne must have heard the clamor of five pairs of footsteps outside her door. Her eyes cracked open and she looked at Richard wearily, and tried to smile. "Richard," she murmured.

Richard turned to the others. "Leave us."

Even the perpetually disapproving Barris made no argumentative gesture, but glared at the others, who hastened back down the corridor a ways. The medic pulled a privacy curtain over the door as she departed.

Richard put his daughter on the floor, and she padded silently over to her mother with familiarity, taking the hand that Yvenne had weakly proffered. "Hi, sweetheart," Yvenne said softly, smiling down at her.

"Hi, mommy."

Richard chewed on his tongue for a minute, trying to gain some composure before he spoke. He was so on edge he couldn't be certain what he would say to her, only that it would likely be something he'd regret.

Yvenne tenderly caressed Sioned's curls for a moment, and then looked back up at Richard. "I'm sorry, Richard," she said.

He turned his face away, still trembling with the effort not to erupt. Taking a deep breath, he asked, "What were you thinking?"

"I just wanted some fresh air. Sioned is going stir-crazy, and you know I hate being cooped up in this glorified _prison_—" she trailed off, letting the trail of feeble excuses kill themselves. "I was mad at you," she said in a tired, resigned voice. "I wanted to make you mad."

"Well, it worked." His jaw trembled with tension. "Thank you, Yvenne, for putting our son and daughter into your little act of vengeance. I hope you got all the satisfaction you were hoping for. I wouldn't want all of this to have been for nothing."

Yvenne closed her eyes tightly, but could not keep two tears from slipping down over her bruised cheeks. "Force, Richard, I am so sorry." Her hand tightened slightly on the crown of Sioned's head and she shook her head. "You were right, you were right. Please forgive me." She reached out a hand to him.

He could see her terror, and it killed his anger. Suddenly, he just felt tired. He stepped forward and took the hand. "I'm sorry too," he said with a weary voice, closing his eyes briefly. "More than you know. I'm glad you're safe."

Looking around, Richard spotted a nearby stool and stepped away long enough to pull it to her bedside. Wordlessly, he pulled Sioned into his lap as Yvenne slowly rubbed her hand back and forth over her protruding belly. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

She swallowed. "I wasn't going to stay out there long. Just one quick trip around the balcony." She shook her head painfully. "After that it was one nightmarish blur. It's like I felt the explosion before I heard it. There was this strange, deathly quiet when the whole floor seemed to shake and then the whole world was just loud chaos. I grabbed Sioned and ran for the lintel, but I couldn't keep my balance. We fell, and I covered her—I covered them both— just before the ceiling started falling." She squeezed his hand and looked at him with terror in her blue eyes. "I was lucky, Richard. I could have broken my back, or crushed my skull… I was lucky."

Her hand, still clenching his, was trembling fiercely. Richard honestly didn't know if he'd ever seen her this frightened before.

"Now do you believe the threat is real?" he asked, not unkindly.

She managed a slight nod. "What do they want from us?" she asked, her voice close to a whisper.

Sioned had rested her head against Richard's chest and was sucking placidly on her thumb, content in the absolute safety of her father's arms. Richard pressed his lips briefly into his daughter's hair as his eyes hardened. "I don't know yet," he told his wife, "but I swear I'll find out. And I assure you, whoever they are, they'll wish they'd never crossed me."

* * *

Yané val Argon was having a nice dream about one of the palace security guards when a nearby crashing sound caused her to jerk awake.

She looked around stiffly, but it was a several hazy, blinking moments before she realized that what had crashed was a small pile of papers that had once been precariously perched on the tabletop beside her elbow. She seemed to remember a plate full of crumbs and a couple of napkins had topped it off. Frowning, she looked down and discovered the offending plate on the floor nearby.

"Nice going, Yan," she muttered, reaching down to pick it up. "Just wake up the whole building." With a deep yawn, she put the plate back on the edge of the table and glanced at the chrono. It was well past midnight. She should go to bed, but Jappo had yet to return, and the idea of going to bed while he was still out braving the wilds of the high brow scholastic underworld— or trying to, anyway— always made her feel guilty.

Instead, she got to her feet and rubbed the back of her neck while she slowly walked up and down the bank of flat-paneled monitors they'd managed to fit into this tiny little closet. None of her alarms had tripped, nor any of the less-important flags, meaning she probably would not have to pay for her little nap, but she'd pass the video feeds along to Desmé for review tomorrow all the same. A second pair of eyes never hurt, especially since Desmé's eyes were five times sharper than Yané's and a hundred times better than any computer. Yané hadn't been hired for her investigative acumen, after all. She was here to make sure the cameras and computers kept working and, most importantly, to make sure neither computer nor camera got an agent compromised.

Yané stared at one screen in particular longer than the others. It showed a half-moon shaped table, a private booth at a local restaurant that had been surrounded by people when she'd fallen asleep. Now it was empty. Hopefully, this meant Joppa would be back soon, and he could interpret in real people language all the murky doubletalk spy language that had lulled Yané into unsolicited slumber. If it was spy talk. It had sounded like raucous inane babble of drunk, idle young men, but she'd been wrong before. Joppa seemed to think they were on the right track, so she just took his word for it and put hidden cameras where she was asked.

Finally satisfied that there was nothing out of the ordinary to merit her staying in the room, Yané picked up the plate of crumbs and squeezed back between the desk and the wall towards the narrow door. It was a shame, really. They had an entire suite at their disposal, but with wide windows and friendly neighbors, there was nowhere to hide the inner workings of a safe house but in the walk-in closet. Yané could only hope that none of those friendly neighbors were paying too close of attention, or they might wonder why the flighty girlfriend of the nice young university student next door spent almost all of her time in said closet.

A twenty-digit password unlocked the door, letting her out. Desmé had once commented that this was a very dangerous protocol to have in place if they ever had a fire, but for Yané it was a small price to pay. She couldn't afford to install the security features she'd prefer without raising suspicion, so she considered it an acceptable compromise. Once in the kitchen, Yané absentmindedly set the plate in the sink and sorted through the cupboards looking for a clean glass. Saché would have her head if she could see this kitchen, Yané thought, smiling slightly to herself. Fortunately, Saché was several hours away in Kaserta, probably exhausted from chasing her energetic son all over her gargantuan house all day.

Yané finally found a small cup that would serve and poured herself a bit of water from the tap. She drank it eagerly, feeling suddenly parched with thirst. It was no surprise. Yané was not one for rules most of the time, but there was one rule she maintained with fierce authority: absolutely, under no circumstances, were there ever to be drinks in the computer room. Thinking back to the plate full of crumbs, she wondered if she oughtn't extend the rule to food as well. Probably not a bad idea, she decided, pouring herself a second tiny cup of water. She really needed to do the dishes in the morning.

She was still debating whether or not to wait up for Joppa or go to bed, and in an effort to stall, got a head start on the morning's chore by ponderously stacking the dishes beside the sink. Her mind wandered in between her computer monitors, Saché's system of arranging dishes, and elusive details of that nice dream she'd been having just a little while ago. The thousandth yawn of the night had just left her lips when she finally heard the sound of her partner's footsteps outside in the hall.

Relieved, Yané headed out into the foyer to greet him. She reached it just as the lock clicked in release and the door pushed inward. Joppa looked every bit as exhausted as Yané was feeling. He shut the door slowly and Yané reached over to the security pad beside her and entered the code that would prevent the alarm from going off.

"Thanks," Joppa said. He threw his bag on the countertop beneath the mirror. "Well, that was a waste of time." He sighed.

"Nothing?" she asked, feeling sympathetic.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I learned which girls from the Oxon families are easy," he said sarcastically. He shook his head. "Fraternity boys."

"Yeah, I kind of fell asleep."

"Wish I could have. Remind me why we're here?"

"We're trying to infiltrate an anti-governmental cult within the aristocracy we tentatively think are known as the Klions." Yané answered what was probably supposed to be a rhetorical question. "We also think they recruit through the universities and that they may be behind the attempts on Richard's life."

"Now you're starting to sound like Desmé," he said, reaching up to rub at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Textbook answer."

"I'm sleepy. Be impressed with textbook. So they're not taking the bait?"

"No, they're either too stupid or too careful. And by 'they' I mean whoever's pulling the strings, because that crowd wasn't much on collective brains." His shoulders slumped as he lowered his hand again and he exhaled in frustration. "To hell with the evidence; my gut tells me we're knocking on the right door. We just don't have the right key." He crossed his arms and bit his lower lip.

She frowned. "Well, does your gut have any fresh ideas?"

"Unfortunately, no. Not tonight."

They left the foyer to get ready for bed, Yané in the guest bedroom, Joppa in the master. If any of the neighbors had figured out that the flighty girlfriend had her own bed, then Yané figured they just had too much time on their hands and they should mind their own business.

She left the water running loudly while she brushed her teeth, and so didn't hear Joppa calling her name until he'd done so three or four times. Spitting and scowling simultaneously, she rinsed her mouth and turned off the water.

"What?" she said tartly, wandering into his room. He was standing in the middle staring at the holofeed.

He nodded at the news program. "Maybe my gut will get some help," he said. "There was another attack. This time on the palace."

* * *

**A/N**: I haven't finished writing this yet. But my hope is that posting and getting feedback will keep the creative juices flowing and the muse well satiated. So if you enjoy what you read, please let me know. It's not a condition of my continued writing, but it will probably help it happen faster. ;-)


	2. Surprises

**Chapter Two - **_**Surprises**_

Sabé Vána Naberrie, Princess of Theed, former Galactic Senator, glanced out the window and allowed herself to think longingly on a time when the galaxy had not been at war.

_Why me? Why now?_ she thought to herself. These questions had immediate relevance as well as general. Across the table, the Minster of Foreign Affairs for the great sovereignty of Malastare was making the same old arguments. They had been holding this circular debate for weeks now—no, months, Sabé amended— and before she had arrived she had no doubt that her predecessor had likewise danced the same verbal circle ever since the war had begun. The only thing that ever changed was the catalyst and some specific issue in which the debate could dress itself. As a result, Sabé could afford a brief moment to indulge in a daydream.

"Princess Vána?"

At the sound of her name, she turned her head slightly. "Yes, Minister?"

Gee Tairn eyed her speculatively. "What is Naboo's position for providing foodstuffs for the front?"

"Our position and our capability are one and the same, Minister," she replied smoothly. "Which is tentative at best. You know we can spare little beyond what we have already contributed without putting our planet once again in a vulnerable position."

Tairn scoffed. "The Trade Federation has long since ceased to be a particular threat to Naboo, Princess, as you are well aware." He leaned back. "Chancellor Palpatine has instituted a fine, flourishing capitalistic system of trade since the Federation's defection, with many fair and non-corrupt companies in competition. Naboo's own Bakurcom is one such, if I'm not mistaken."

"It is not the shadow of the Trade Federation alone which motivates our internal policies, Minister. Both Queen Amidala and King Richard have favored a conservative approach to planetary government, an approach I think that all planets in the Republic would do well to follow, especially in a time of war. We will not be caught helpless again. The foodstuff reserves remain on Naboo."

Leaning back slightly, Tairn narrowed his three eyes at her. "One might ask, Senator Vána, exactly what Naboo _has_ contributed to the war effort."

"And one might reply, Minister, that Naboo should not be expected to provide any form of support in a war for which it had no opportunity to favor or oppose," Sabé replied with aplomb.

"It was a Naboo representative who put forth the proposition to expand the Chancellor's powers," Tairn shot back, almost gleefully.

Inwardly, Sabé sighed. Poor Jar Jar. Needless to say, Padmé had pulled the well-meaning, bumbling creature from his vaunted position on Coruscant, but the damage had already been done. Sabé was sure that the Chancellor would have found other means to achieve his ends, but his clever use of Jar Jar in Padmé's absence had crippled Padmé's strength as a voice for the opposition. Sabé had never been able to fathom what had possessed Padmé to include Jar Jar on her staff to begin with. It was one of the few points of contention the sisters had ever had on political matters. Sabé did not doubt Jar Jar's good heart, but in her eyes he had always been destined to be a victim of politics, not the fresh voice Padmé had hoped to make him. Senator Amidala's blind faith in him had cost them all dearly. Sabé often wondered how things might have turned out differently had Dooji Bip not retired.

She met Tairn's gaze, still not rising to his bait. He was fishing for a fireworks show, and she refused to throw a hissy fit, though inwardly she would have liked to have thrown a smashball— two smashballs— at his smug face, one each in the spaces between his three eyes. She probably would have missed; she was a terrible shot. But it would have felt good. Instead, she leaned forward, her face still almost expressionless, and said, "The issue of an army was coming to vote, Minister. We could have kept democracy intact."

"You words border on treason, Ambassador," he said.

She relaxed back into her chair again. "I am here to speak for the King and Senator of Naboo. Call me before the Separatist inquisition, if you like," she replied, unconcerned with the threat. "My position is already well known. Let them determine the difference between loyalty and opinion."

Tairn merely glared a minute more, ground his teeth inside his round, narrow little mouth, and proceeded to the next topic on his itinerary with a grunt. Sabé resumed her daydream.

When the meeting was finally over, she fled the room with relish, grateful to be free for an entire week together. Once far enough down the hall that Gee Tairn's eyes weren't burning imaginary holes in the back of her robes, she reached up to rub the back of her neck with probing fingers, tilting her head to try and release some of the tension. Headdresses and complicated hairstyles made an impression, but they also tended to keep the royal masseuse back in Theed working overtime. She wondered idly if she could find as skilled a counterpart here on Malastare, but quickly dismissed the thought. No doubt he or she would be a spy for Gee Tairn, reporting back on a weekly basis how much tension he caused the upstart Naboo Ambassador.

She scowled. If it wasn't for this stupid war, she would probably be able to get some _real_ ambassadorial work done, instead of doing her part to help push pieces around a giant galactic de'jarak board while the common people waited in suspense for their representatives to resume governing. On the other hand, she reflected, it wasn't like much in the way of governing had gotten done _before_ the war. Wasn't that why the Separatists had separated in the first place?

"Ambassador Vána!"

Sabé turned to see the Alderaanian ambassador, Belden Luhrs, racing down the corridor after her. She smiled, not displeased to see him. It was not, perhaps, the most dignified pace for an interplanetary Ambassador, but Luhrs managed to maintain his poise nonetheless.

She paused to allow him to catch up, her welcoming smile still intact when he stopped before her, very slightly out of breath. "Ambassador Luhrs," she greeted with a slight nod of the head.

He nodded in acknowledgement, still trying to catch his breath. "You must be late for an engagement at such a fixated pace, Princess," he said with a slight laugh.

Sabé licked her lips and her eyes twinkled as she replied, with cautious words, "My pace had more to do with leaving an engagement than arriving at one, I confess," she said. Had she not been in such a formal setting, she probably would have rolled her eyes.

As it was, Luhrs still chuckled knowingly. "Minister Tairn's approach to politics—" he said, "Oh, where to begin?"

"Loquacious," said Sabé. "That's the place to start. I think it was almost a full hour before anybody else had a chance to speak in that laughable attempt at a conference, and then it was only to ask Ambassador Pasau for the time."

This time he laughed outright. "You are ruthless, Ambassador," he informed her. He gestured ahead with one hand. "May I accompany you? Provided I do not hamper your pace?"

"Certainly." They turned and continued down the corridor together. After a moment, Sabé commented, "Minister Tairn's overbearing manner notwithstanding, Ambassador Luhrs, you said very little in the conference." Sabé had been giving it some thought, and wondered if she couldn't guess the reason for this impromptu little meeting on her colleague's part.

Her suspicious, while not absolutely confirmed, were certainly not discouraged by the professional gravity that now overtook Luhrs' kind face. He regarded her with a keen eye. "Like you, Senator, I had very little to say that had not already been said. It is your misfortune that you are Tairn's favorite smashball target."

"Odd you should put it that way," she muttered lowly. "I was actually thinking of using _him_ as a smashball target in there."

Luhrs smiled sympathetically at the joke but kept to business. "I'm surprised he didn't call me out. It would have been to his advantage."

Sabé paused in her footsteps and turned to face him with a soft sigh. "You're here to tell me that Alderaan is tapping into its reserves."

He nodded. "I don't know why Tairn didn't play that card in there, but I'm glad he didn't. I wanted to get a chance to tell you in private."

Sabé pressed her lips together a moment, trying to collect her thoughts, before resuming their walk once more. "May I be so bold as to ask why? Senator Amidala had counted on Alderaan's support."

"Supporting an armistice and withholding foodstuffs are not the same issue, Ambassador. Believe me, it's not something that has been easy on any of us—the Parliament, Prince Organa— but at the end of the day those are human lives out there fighting this war."

"Are we so sure about that?" she asked him quietly, though admittedly with very little conviction. "They were grown in a laboratory. Their minds have been stripped of free will."

"But they are still capable of emotion, of pain and suffering. And hunger." He pointed out.

She gave the slightest of nods as they kept walking. It was something that she, Richard, and Padmé had long been wrestling with. "I understand your position, Senator. Thank you for your candor."

After a few moments of slightly awkward silence, she then said, "May ask you something? As an individual, not as an ambassador speaking on behalf of the whole of Alderaan."

"Of course."

"Do you truly support the idea of an armistice? I know we have spoken of it often, but there is always doubt in all of your expressions."

Luhrs hesitated, looking briefly like someone caught in a trap. "The Republic is a beautiful dream, Princess," he said. "But I've always believed that in scope it long ago surpassed itself. We're simply too big for ourselves." At this, Sabé smiled faintly and he continued. "I do believe that, in principle, the Separatists have a right to cessation if they so choose. So yes, to answer your question, I do support the armistice argument. The doubt you perceive in me is not in the rightness of this idea, but doubt that it would ever work."

"Why not?" Sabé asked.

He glanced at her. "I had the fortune— or perhaps misfortune— to be with Prince Organa when he met with Count Dooku and some of the Separatist leaders shortly after the Battle of Geonosis," he said. "Though I could not provide you with any proof, I came a way with the distinct feeling that some in the room, including Dooku, had no interest in independence at all. Only in war. They very definitely seemed to want the war. For no fathomable reason that I could give you."

Sabé shivered. "That is a chilling thought, Ambassador."

"I pray to any gods that it is nothing more than one humble pacifist's paranoia," he replied, shaking his head. "As I said, it is nothing more than an unfounded instinct."

"If you are right," Sabé said, frowning, "it wouldn't be the first time in recent memory that hostilities had been incited without sensible explanation. To this day I still have no satisfactory answer to why the Trade Federation ever decided to attack Naboo."

"I confess I had not thought of that. But in short, Princess, I believe there are sinister parties with interest in this war, and while I believe in the ideals of the negotiating table, I do not think they will be of any use to us."

She nodded slowly, accepting his reasons, and wondered what Padmé would think of all of this. "Thank you, Beldon," she said quietly, coming to a stop again. "You have given me much to ponder."

"I only hope someday I can give you more pleasant food for thought," he said. He took her hand and kissed it, complete with a formal bow. "Until then, rest assured that Alderaan remains Naboo's staunch ally in the pursuit of peace, despite this lowly ambassador's unsubstantiated fears." He smiled.

"Thank you," Sabé repeated, and watched him take his leave.

When she got back to her quarters, Maité was waiting. "How did it go?" the handmaiden asked, leading the way into the dressing room, where the lighting began immediately to turn on, all settings to Sabé's liking.

"How does it always go?" Sabé asked tiredly. "I'm kind of in the mood to pretend I'm not a politician for the rest of the day."

Maité laughed. "Gown or hair first?" she asked.

"Hair," Sabé replied, dropping into the stool in front of the vanity with relief. "Definitely hair."

With expert and soothing efficiency, Maité began extracting Sabé's hair from the maddening headdress. While she worked, Sabé's thoughts drifted reluctantly to the rest of her evening. Unfortunately, she could not take the night off. She had an 'informal' dinner with the Bimmissarian ambassador later in the evening, and an even later conference call with Richard afterward. She wished she could have called him now, but as Richard was the king and she merely the ambassador, she was obliged to match his schedule.

Sabé was anxious to hear from Richard himself any news regarding the assassination attempt of the prior week. What news she was able to glean from the holo feed did little to satisfy her. Old fears and questions about her mother's death that had lain long dormant— or at least in deep hibernation— had been brought most violently and repeatedly to the surface since the threats to Richard's life had begun. She was relieved, at least, that he had finally convinced Yvenne to quit palace life for the moment. She and Sioned had left Theed three days ago, once Yvenne had been well enough to travel. Where they had been taken not even Sabé knew.

The only good thing to be said, for the moment, was that the rest of her afternoon before dinner was free. She could take a nap. After Maité had finished helping her change out of her uncomfortable garb of state, she ate a quick lunch and settled into her bed to do just that.

Some time later, Maité was shaking her awake. Sabé sat up, disoriented, wondering for a moment where she was and how she'd gotten there. A few seconds later the pieces started falling into place and she was surprised to realize she'd been sleeping so deeply. She was usually a light napper.

"What is it, Maité?" she asked, reaching up to rub at her eyes. "Did I oversleep?"

"No, my lady. It's still late afternoon. Senator Amidala is on the line. She wanted me to wake you right away."

Sabé blinked stupidly. "Padmé?" she repeated. "What does she want?"

Maité looked worried. "The Separatists have launched an attack on the capital, my lady. The Chancellor has been kidnapped."

* * *

Claria Elsinoré Naberrie dashed up the staircase to the executive wing of Theed palace as quickly as her heavy skirts would allow. The guards positioned at the foot and head of the stairs made no move to prevent her, nor gave any other indication that they marked her passing. Once up the stairs, she hurried down the succeeding corridor toward Richard's office suite.

The guard outside the door stepped up smoothly to stop her. "Just a moment, Princess."

Breathing heavily, Claria rolled her eyes. "Oh for goodness' sake, Bothey," she said with a touch of complaint.

"His Majesty is on a conference call with the capital," the guard informed her. "He asked not to be disturbed."

"I'll be very quiet, I promise," she said.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Your Highness."

Claria bit her tongue and tried to glare through the door to where her baby brother would be sitting at his desk. She sympathized with his growing paranoia over the past two years, but sometimes his rigid precautions tended to go annoyingly too far.

Abruptly, she thought of Yvenne's black and blue face of the past week and closed her eyes, gently chastising herself for her impatience. Instead, she satisfied herself with taking up a brusque pace back and forth outside the office door, waiting.

She was not kept long in suspense. A few minutes later, Bothey received a telling click from his radio and after a brief conversation, he glanced at Claria and nodded, opening the door to allow her to pass. She hurried through.

Richard was standing up to greet her, and she hurried over to give him an eager hug. "I just heard," she said eagerly. "Is it true? The Chancellor?"

He nodded. "There have been confirmed sightings of both Dooku and Grievous, but with most of their forces spread across the Outer Rim in engagements, they'll have a hard time getting through the security net around the planet."

"You think they'll try to flee Coruscant?" she asked. "I would have thought their intent was to kill him."

He shook his head. "That would only put them back at square one. Palpatine's successor would take power with full authority and they'll have lost the element of surprise. No, holding him hostage gives them a much stronger position to negotiate."

Claria frowned. "Then why wouldn't they just stay on the planet? I would think there would be no better place to hide than on Coruscant."

"And you would probably be right, but over half the Jedi Council is still in residence, some of the greatest Masters in the galaxy. They can't conceal him there for long."

"What about Padmé?" Claria asked, hurriedly moving on to the point of greater concern, at least in her mind.

"I made contact. She's safe, for now. And under increased security, of course. I didn't get to talk long. Comm time is very precious at the moment."

"What is the Senate going to do?" she asked, concerned.

"What else? Recall the Jedi. Some of them, anyway. Security net or no, when Grievous makes his move they'll need all the help they can get." He shook his head. "I couldn't learn anything more. Padmé was very pressed for time."

"What about Sabé? Does she know?"

"I'm sure she would have found out soon enough, but yes. Padmé called her. Before she called here." Richard's expression was slightly dark at this, and he was quiet for a moment.

Feeling uncomfortable, Claria looked around. "Where's Ceidron?" she asked abruptly. As one of Richard's closest, though not always favorite, advisors, her husband was usually around when she came to visit.

"He was here this morning. He got a call from Commenor earlier. Something about one of their citizens causing a disturbance in Theed and then there was some kind of visa mess… they called to ask if he could help smooth things over." Richard returned to his desk and sat down, resting his hand over his eyes for a moment. Claria looked at him sadly. Sometimes it was hard to believe he had only twenty-one years to his name. "That was before we got word of the situation on the capital," Richard continued. "I would have expected him back by now."

The intercom clicked to life. "Your Majesty?"

"What is it, Bothey?"

"Agent Joppa Kal and his team are here, Sire. May I send them in?"

Suddenly, Richard seemed renewed with energy. He straightened in the chair, his expression cautiously hopeful. "At once, Bothey, please."

"Would you like me to go?" Claria asked as the door opened behind them.

He hesitated, then shook his head. "No, you can stay, if you like. This concerns all of us."

They turned to face the newcomers, a man and two women. One of the women Claria recognized as Padmé's former handmaiden, Yané val Argon, and she smiled with eager greeting.

"Claria, may I present Joppa Kal, Desmé Teelis, and of course you already know Yané. Agents Kal and Teelis, this is my sister, Princess Claria Elsinoré Naberrie."

"Your Highness," said Agent Kal, dropping into a respectful bow.

"Agent Kal and his team have been conducting a secret investigation of these assassinations," Richard informed her quietly.

"With little success until now, I'm afraid," the other man, probably two or three years older than Richard, admitted reluctantly. "But we may have new insight. Your Majesty, if I may?" he asked, turning to Richard.

"By all means."

Richard sat down at his desk again and indicated Claria to a chair against the wall behind him, which she took, curious and suddenly sharing Richard's hope.

Agent Kal took a data card from his pocket and inserted it into the holo projector on Richard's desk. "I'm sorry it has taken such a long time for us to compile this report, Your Majesty," he said, "but we wanted to be thorough and analysis of the ballistics took some considerable time."

"How so?"

The woman Claria did not know, Agent Teelis, stepped forward. "There was no bullet, Sire," she said simply.

Richard leaned forward with a frown. "You told me that the blast radius and trajectory of the explosion indicated that it had been triggered from a distance, probably by a sniper."

"And so it was," the woman said, nodding. "But his weapon of choice was far from conventional."

She glanced at her team leader, who nodded grimly, before turning to face the king again. "It was some manner of sonic weapon, Your Majesty, I'm almost certain of it. Not only based upon the fact that we have no physical evidence of a projectile, but samples taken from the damaged sections of the palace—" she hesitated.

"Yes?" Richard prompted, clearly trying to rein in his patience.

"Well, there were foreign elements," she concluded. "In the brick, in the mortar. Highly volatile chemical combinations that would prove highly dangerous given the right energy trigger. They were not part of the palace's initial construction. They were targeted with a high-energy sonic blast on a very specific frequency. This was the cause of the explosion."

Claria stared, amazed. "You're saying they were—" she hesitated, looking over at Richard, whose face was impossible to read "—_built_ into the building?" The words sounded ridiculous in her mouth but she could think of no clearer way to express her question.

Agent Teelis nodded.

"How is that possible?" Claria asked, overcome with a sudden chill.

Agent Kal stepped forward and turned on the holo projector. It showed a display of the palace with several major, outward sections highlighted in bright blue. "These sections of the palace were heavily damaged thirteen years ago in the battle with the Trade Federation," he said. He looked at Richard gravely. "My lord, I've sampled them all. They all show traces of the same chemical compounds."

Richard stared at the holo for a long, long moment before glancing back up at the agent darkly. "You're saying that whoever was behind this put contingencies in place as far back as the reconstruction?"

Agent Kal turned off the holo projector. "Yes, Sire. Exactly that. Less than a year after Queen Leiandra's assassination. My lord, while this is still not sufficient proof, I believe it more likely than ever that the attempts on your life and the successful assassination of your mother are not unrelated."

Claria looked fearfully over at Richard. His jaw was as taut as the strings on her clavaria, some three stories below them. "And what of the shooter?" he asked.

"We determined where the shot originated, under a ledge between the fourth and fifth stories of the Parliament building. It's just a lip of shingles, really, Sire. A child could have been concealed in there, but not an average adult human. Either the shooter _isn't_ human or he or she is abnormally small for one."

"The Parliament building," Richard repeated, and Claria closed her eyes briefly.

When she opened them again, Agent Kal was nodding. "Yes," he said. "Another link. The two incidents are much to closely related for my liking."

Now Richard turned his attention to Yané. "How could anyone have gained access?" he said.

She shook her head. "Not without help, Ri—Your Majesty. I've reviewed the security system, as best I can. It wasn't a blind spot. The system would have spotted him climbing in there. I didn't want to request to examine the recordings until we'd reported to you. That will raise a lot of flags. But I'm quite sure I'll find evidence of tampering. Also, it would have been very hard for him to get up there without first entering the building, even at night, and you know how tight security measures have been _inside_ Parliament. He probably had inside help."

Agent Kal stepped forward, "Your Majesty, I think our unknown enemy may have finally tipped their hand. Based on this evidence I think it likely that someone within the Naboo government is responsible for this string of assassination attempts, or is at least party to whoever _is_ truly behind them."

Claria's heart was pounding. She could hardly believe her ears. After a moment, Richard cleared his throat. "We already suspected the nobility was part of this," he said.

"Yes, Sire, but the reconstruction of the palace gives us a strong lead. Oversight committees, engineering contracts, a paper trail, sir. It is my hope that this thread might finally lead us to some answers."

Now Richard's face was catching the other man's enthusiasm. "So how do we proceed?" he asked. "I presume you'll want to pull your operations in Oxon?"

"For the time being, no," Agent Kal admitted. "Without knowing who among your councilors may be trusted, we think it best to maintain the illusion that we're following former leads for a little while longer. I am going to leave Yané here for the time being, though, to begin the new investigation discreetly. I want her working alone."

Richard nodded. "Good work, all of you," he said, getting to his feet. "Return to Oxon, request whatever resources or personnel that you need. And Yané—" he added, "—I'll start with getting you the Parliament security footage. Discreetly. We don't want to raise any flags."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." She tripped again slightly on the title, and Claria smiled. It was probably really odd for Yané, who had often times been one of Richard's babysitters when he was younger, to stop calling him by his given name.

Agent Kal and his team departed. When the door was shut behind them, Richard glanced at the chrono. "Somehow I suspect Ceidron's not coming back to work today."

"No probably not," she agreed. "Richard, did you have any idea that this might happen? I mean, the idea of assassins within the Naboo—" she trailed off, still unwilling to believe it.

"I tried not to harbor such ideas without any evidence," Richard said. "But I have to admit, it wasn't easy. We've been in power for a long time, Claria. Some people just don't like it, and that's that." He turned to the window and looked out, his forehead wrinkling with worry. "But one thing's for sure, it's no way to govern. All of this constant fear, paranoia, not a mention a war waging throughout the whole galaxy." He shook his head. "I can barely maintain a grip on things day to day around here. How am I supposed to plan for the long term and run elections on top of everything else? Sometimes I think Chancellor Palpatine had the right idea."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's so inefficient sometimes. I hate having my hands tied by procedural niceties. I'd rather just have the power to get something _done_ for a change, and to hell with that blasted Parliament anyway."

Claria blinked at him, surprised. "You'd better not let Padmé hear you talking like that," she said.

"Right, because she's been so communicative lately," he retorted.

Claria pressed her lips together, feeling uncomfortable again. He didn't say as much, but she knew he was referring to her sister's recent pregnancy, highly publicized, the subject of much gossip and scandal in several dozen systems. The Naboo as a population had very conservative views on marriage and family and the fact that their icon, their beloved Amidala, had seemingly broken one of Naboo's greatest social taboos had not made things easy on any of them, especially Richard.

Claria was fairly sure that Richard would have been willing to forgive Padmé, except that she flatly refused to admit she'd done anything wrong. She had not submitted her resignation, as many had automatically assumed she would, and Claria knew that Richard wrestled daily with whether or not he should demand it.

For her part, Claria felt a sense of hurt on a more personal level. While she had never been as close to Padmé as she was to Sabé, she still felt that she should have been entitled to know if her sister was involved with someone— if she was happy, if she had been hurt. But Padmé had retreated into Amidala and did not seem to want to come out. There were distances between the Naberrie siblings, distances far greater in misunderstandings than in light years, and Claria had never before appreciated just how much Sabé kept them all tied together.

She walked up to her brother and put a tentative hand on his arm. "Padmé will come around," she assured him gently. "I know she will. You know how stressful the war has been for her."

"I know. I hope she stays safe, in all of this."

Claria's thoughts turned once again to the situation on Coruscant, momentarily forgotten with her attention focused on problems nearer to home. "I hope so too," she said. She patted Richard's arm again. "Think positively," she admonished him. "It's not exactly _happy_ news, but it looks like the investigation took a good step forward today."

He nodded. "It did. Thank you, Claria."

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked.

"What? Oh, right. Dinner. Yes, I'm looking forward to it."

"All right. Goodbye."

Just before passing through the doorway, Claria turned one last time. Richard was still standing at the window, a deeply thoughtful expression on his face.

* * *

Ceidron would never have admitted it out loud, but as tedious as the excuse had sounded, he was more than glad to get away from his brother-in-law for one afternoon. Richard's single-minded bad mood had been festering for months, and it was sometimes more than Ceidron cared to handle. Some days it was all he could do to keep from shouting some sense into Richard, and as time went on, he began to wonder what was holding him back.

He took his time getting down to the Commenoran Embassy. A trifle selfish, perhaps, but he really felt the need to walk off his frustration with Richard before he went home and took it out on Claria instead. By the time he arrived, it had been an hour and a half since their call for help.

He entered the front offices of the embassy, all of the clerks at the front counter jumped to their feet with astonishing speed. "Your Lordship," said the first. Ceidron rolled his eyes.

"Just because I married a royal, I don't know why everyone seems to think that makes me one," he muttered. Technically, they had bestowed upon him some sort of honorary title, but he liked to complain about it whenever possible. "Minister Fifla called me?" he said.

"Fifra. Yes, sir. I'll tell him you're here."

The clerk disappeared through the door behind the counter. Ceidron stood waiting, dumbly, trying not to stare down the other clerks and all the visitors in the room eyeing him and whispering among themselves.

After a few agonizing minutes of this behavior, the first clerk returned with Minister Fifra on his heels, followed by the Commenorian ambassador, Geelis. "Lord Metz, thank you so much for coming. This is a rather sticky situation. I think you can be of great help."

Ceidron gave a shrug. "What can I do for you?"

"Follow us, please," Ambassador Geelis asked.

They went through the door behind the counter as the Ambassador kept talking. "We're keeping her here in the embassy for the moment, but there's a slight legal problem. You see, her travel visa has expired and in addition to that—"

"Ambassador," Ceidron interrupted, stopping in the middle of the hallway so that the two older men were forced to do the same.

"Yes, my lord?"

Biting back a scowl, Ceidron mustered his patience and said, "You'll both forgive me but I have no idea of any of the specifics. Maybe you should start at the beginning?"

"Certainly."

Ceidron waited a moment expectantly. "Well?" he prompted. "Who is she? She's from Commenor?"

Obviously grateful for the starting place, Minister Fifra nodded with relief, and began walking again as he resumed his explanation. "Yes, my Lord. Commenoran by birth. Her name is Jessa Kennich. She arrived on Naboo a little over a week ago, and—"

Ceidron stopped again. "What did you say?"

"My lord?"

"Her name. What did you say her name was?"

"Jessa Kennich, my lord."

Ceidron stood there, trying to decide if there was any good way to gauge his shock. Surely not. It had to be a coincidence. "Go on," he said cautiously.

"Like I said, she arrived on Naboo a little over a week ago. The day of the attack on the palace, in fact. She was held up for several days due to the delays caused by security measures, and by the time she got out of customs her visa was nearly expired. She made several attempts to contact you, sir, and then—"

"She tried to contact me?" Ceidron asked, surprised. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Minister Fifra seemed confused by this. "Well, quite a number of visitors from Commenor attempt to do the same, my lord. If we forward all of the requests you would have precious little time on your hands for anything else."

"And then what happened?"

"The visa expired and Kennich did not return for her scheduled flight back to Commenor. Pursuant to procedure, we tried to enforce it, but she resisted security and proceeded to create quite a mess for herself by breaking several of Naboo's laws. Petty theft, vandalism, and forgery to say the least."

"She pulled all of that off in a few days?"

"A few hours, my lord," Fifra corrected. "Our forces finally caught up with her, and now there seems to be a certain bit of confusion over jurisdiction. If her visa had still been in effect, the laws would be quite clear, but being that the crimes took place in Naboo against the Naboo people without the protection of—"

"She must be sentenced under Commenor law!" insisted Ambassador Geelis, adamantly, and Ceidron realized that the two gentlemen had been eagerly waiting to get to this argument so they could perform it for his benefit, hoping he'd take a swift side. "The interplanetary code in the Republic charter clearly states that in such—"

"Gentleman," said Ceidron. "I'm not a lawyer. I'll need some help before you start delving into all of that." He was pleased to see them both shut up, but not without betraying their disappointment. "Can I see the prisoner?"

This seemed to surprise them. "You want to see the prisoner, my lord?" asked Minister Fifra.

"I think she might be an old friend of mine."

That definitely shocked them. "Sir?" asked Geelis.

"I knew a Jessa Kennich back on Comennor. Quite well, in fact," he added quietly. "Can I please see her?"

"Certainly, certainly, my lord. This way."

Ceidron couldn't explain the feelings of apprehension that had suddenly come over him as the Ambassador and the Minister led him deeper into the complex. Jessa Kennich had been the closest he'd come to falling in love before he'd met Claria Naberrie. She had always been headstrong, but she'd never been reckless, and she'd certainly never been a criminal. What could have prompted such wild behavior on her part? What was she even doing on Naboo in the first place?

Wondering if there was still an off chance it was a different person of the same name, or maybe even someone using information about his past against him, Ceidron entered the small but comfortable detention area with trepidation. Immediately all such remote possibility fled his thoughts.

She was older than he remembered, of course, but she also appeared older than he would have ever imagined. Unbelievably tired, in fact. Her hair was shorter, more practical. One giant travel duffel was open on the bunk beside her, and in her lap was resting a little girl with dark hair and flushed cheeks.

Jessa's eyes lifted to Ceidron's and she let out a long, relieved sigh. "It's about time," she muttered, and rose to her feet, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. Jessa walked to the glass wall that separated her from Ceidron and eyed him almost angrily. "Are you so high and mighty now that you can't even answer letters from an old friend?"

"Jessa," he said, dumbfounded. "What are you doing here?"

"Here?" she asked, and looked around pointedly at the walls holding her in. "I'm in here because I'm desperate and it was honestly the best way I could think to get your attention. How's that for crazy?"

"Who's that?" he asked, nodding with some inexplicable suspense at the little girl still sound asleep on the bunk behind them.

Jessa followed his gaze and then turned back to him with a pointed expression. "That, Ceidron Metz, is your daughter." She gave him a grim smile. "Did you miss me?"

* * *

**A/N**: I'll always know I was in Chile when I wrote this chapter. 'Gee Tairn' came from me needing a SW name and casting my eyes about for ideas, when they rested on the guitar that was hanging about the stairwell in my house in Chile, so I just made some phonetic and spelling adjustments to 'guitar.' 'Maité' the handmaiden was named after my little sister in Chile with the same name, sans accent mark. Also, one of the many just plain silly aspects of the prequel trilogy was Anakin's non-recognition of Padmé's pregnancy, which, as **melyanna** once pointed out, was probably obvious from orbit. As such, I totally disregarded any idea that her pregnancy was some galactic secret and it actually made for some interesting familial and political tension. :-)


	3. Meetings and Intrigues

**Chapter Three - **_**Meetings and Intrigues**_

"We'll be docking shortly, Ambassador."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Sabé watched the young man leave and sat down heavily in the dining alcove, a somewhat delicate process with all of her robes of state. Ordinarily she spent take-offs and landings in her own cabin, but on this trip she'd been obliged to receive the security inspection team from the surface.

It had taken Sabé almost four full days to get to this point. A full day to wrap up her affairs on Malastare, two days in hyperspace, and another day spent in tedious orbit above Coruscant waiting for clearance to land, something that had never happened in all of Sabé's prior ventures to the capital. It was only to be expected, though. She'd spent her day floating in space almost permanently glued to the holofeed, learning all she could about what was undoubtedly going to become the _legendary_ Battle of Coruscant.

Idly, she turned on the unit and found a report from two days ago that she'd been watching nonstop. A large group of press was congregated around a smaller group of highly prominent politicians. Among them she spotted Padmé, Prince Bail Organa, Doman Beruss, and a few new faces she knew only by reputation. At the forefront of this gathering was a face she knew all too well— Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and Sabé's brother-in-law.

"I can confirm with undeniable certainty," he said, "that Count Dooku is indeed deceased. He was killed in the final leg of our campaign to recapture the Chancellor."

There was a flurry of excited shouting, grunting, and hand or appendage-waving from the press corps. Shayla Paige-Tarkin, who seemed to have been designated the intermediary, pointed sternly at a young Bothan male close to the front.

The shouting died down just in time to catch the beginning of his question. "Jedi Skywalker, is it true that you delivered the killing blow?"

Anakin didn't seem very pleased at the question. "Yes, it was me," he answered curtly. "Next question?"

"And where was Master Kenobi in that moment?"

"He was otherwise occupied. There were many obstacles to overcome to get us both into the chambers where the Chancellor was being held."

"Where is the Chancellor now?"

At this point, Senator Paige-Tarkin stepped in, somehow managing to dismiss Anakin without making it look like that was what she was doing. A knowing smile pulled at the corner of Sabé's mouth, and she shook her head. She hadn't gotten out of politics but she was grateful every day that she'd gotten out of Coruscant and all its ridiculous subtleties. "The Chancellor is resting comfortably in his chambers here in the Senate complex. Naturally, after such a trying ordeal it will be a few more days before he is ready for questioning."

Sabé turned off the holo again. She'd watched the full briefing several times now, and never with any satisfactory results, which was to say, nothing that told her where Ben was now or what he was doing. She could at least be reasonably assured he hadn't been seriously hurt— she felt they would have mentioned it if he had, but she didn't like the sound of 'otherwise occupied' and wished she had Anakin on hand to elaborate on that very careful dance of words.

It had been almost five years since she'd seen Ben. Five long years since Richard's wedding, five years since she'd confessed her love to a Jedi Master in a quiet cavern below Theed Palace. Not long after they had been plunged into war, and the battles scattered him to the farthest corners of the galaxy, where news was scarce and she lived in fear every moment for his survival. She scoured the reports from the front, always searching, always hoping.

The burden of this lonely vigil was in no way eased by the second secret she carried—that of her sister's marriage. Precious few people knew about Anakin and Padmé. These few included Sabé, Captain Typho, and Padmé's handmaidens: Ellé, Moteé, and Sabé's old friend Dormé. There was of course the priest who had married them and the two droids who had witnessed the ceremony, but Sabé often forgot about them, since they never played as active a role in keeping the secret. Claria did not know and neither did Richard. Everything had gotten even more complicated when news had been released of Padmé's pregnancy.

It would be strange to see her sister again, an expectant mother. Sabé was almost dreading the experience. As much as she loved her sister, there were times when she felt an insurmountable resentment. Really, what were the odds that two twin sisters would both fall in love with Jedi? Sabé would never forget the pain she had felt when Padmé had first confided her marriage, nor the tears that she had wept long into the night after her sister could no longer see. It had never stopped hurting, the knowledge that Padmé was enjoying what Sabé could not.

So often she had been tempted to return the confidence, to tell her sister of her own forbidden love, but something invariably held her back. She did not want to risk Anakin finding out about it. He was too unpredictable, and she couldn't expect Padmé to be able to withhold such information from a husband she so thoroughly adored.

And so she endured in silence. The holo report, for all its tedious details and politicians on stage, had assured her of one blessed thing: Ben was still alive. Even more exhilarating, he was here, on Coruscant.

A slight tremor in the bulkheads indicated they'd crossed into the atmosphere. Sabé briefly considered fastening her crash webbing, but then decided it was half pointless by now. Instead, she waited patiently as the pilot continued with landing procedures. They had been fortunate to make it to the planet's surface so quickly. Sabé's status as an ambassador and former Senator, not to mention her relationship to the _current_ Senator, Amidala, meant that she enjoyed a few privileges such as front-of-the-line security inspections. In all likelihood, traffic in and out of the capital would be clogged for some time yet.

Finally, with gentle clunking sounds and a release of pressure, the ship came to a halt. Sabé got to her feet and waited for Maité and Lyré to join her. Together the princess and handmaidens descended the ramp, where Sabé was unsurprised to see Captain Typho waiting for them beyond on the platform.

"Welcome back to Coruscant, Princess," he said with a smile.

"Thank you, Captain. I think," she said, returning the gesture before reaching out to give Dormé an embrace.

"The Senator couldn't come," Dormé explained as she pulled away. "Security concerns."

"I didn't expect to see her here, don't worry."

"She can't wait to see you, though. We'll be meeting her for dinner."

"Great. Is Parin still working as chef?"

"I don't think he'd leave unless he were bodily hauled away."

"Which would take some serious hauling," pointed out Sabé. "Rangorans aren't noted for being compact."

Dormé laughed. "No, my lady."

They made their way to an airspeeder and then along a route with which Sabé was unfamiliar. She remembered that Padmé kept another set of apartments on Coruscant, apart from her official quarters in the Senate complex, but she'd never actually had opportunity to visit them until now. Ironically, without Padmé's considerably higher notoriety, Sabé had not been able to justify such an expenditure during her tenure as Senator, nor had she any private reason so good as Padmé's to keep herself at times a bit farther away from prying eyes.

Finally, they arrived. Sabé had to admit she was impressed. The rooftop complex boasted direct airspeeder access. It was quite beautiful, but she couldn't help but wonder—

"Isn't this a security risk?" she asked Captain Typho as he reached out a hand to assist her out of the speeder.

Dormé was right behind her. "I wouldn't bring that up," she warned, though there was a playful gleam in her eye as she sneaked a peek at Captain Typho, who was frowning with very tight lips. "It's a sore subject."

"I shouldn't wonder," Sabé commented, glancing at him a little sympathetically. He was a relative of Hugh Panaka's, after all.

Any further conversation was driven from her mind. A few meters beyond the entry alcove, Padmé came rushing out of a side corridor in a most un-dignitary-like fashion. "Sabé!" she greeted, her smile wide enough to power the city.

Sabé hurried forward to greet her sister, wrapping her arms tightly around her. She immediately noticed the new feeling of the bulge of Padmé's belly beneath her voluminous gown. She pulled quickly away and studied the new sight with fascination. "May I?" she asked tentatively.

Padmé laughed. "It's nice to see you too. Yes, by all means."

Sabé reached out a soft, hesitant hand and rested it where her new niece or nephew lay warmly ensconced, soon ready to greet the world beyond. It wasn't her first experience of the sort— she'd had the fortune to be on Naboo during the final week's of Yvenne's first pregnancy, but that didn't make the experience any less wondrous.

"Oh, Padmé," she breathed. "I know it's been hard, but— I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you," her glowing sister replied.

"Is he—?" Sabé asked meaningfully, lowering her voice slightly out of old habits. They were safe to speak openly of the matter here.

By way of answer, Padmé turned slightly to look over her shoulder, and Sabé saw Anakin for the first time, holding back slightly in the shadow of the hallway from which Padmé had emerged. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the sisters' reunion with a tranquil expression.

He looked utterly different than the brash padawan Sabé had last known him as. His hair was longer; his apprentice braid long since cut off. But it wasn't so much a physical change. There was something else, too, something about him that felt far older than a meager five years' experience ought to have bestowed.

Sabé gave him a smile. "It's been quite a while since the jail cell on Cliopa, Anakin," she called out.

He stepped forward. "That it has. It's good to see you, Sabé."

She opened her mouth and hesitated a moment before adding, "Congratulations."

He only nodded and gave a quiet smile.

"I have so much I want to talk to you about," Padmé said, steering Sabé by her elbow further into the main living area. "The first of which is," she gave a very official-sounding sigh. "I wonder if you could do me a favor."

"You know, that is just not the first thing you want to hear coming out of a seasoned politician's mouth when you step through the door, even if she is your sister," Sabé could not help but remark. "No promises, but what is it?"

Padmé snuck a glance at her husband and then gave Sabé a small, sheepish smile. "There's a public session tomorrow," she said. "The first time that the Chancellor will be appearing since the assault. There's no vote, no participation. It's really more of a glorified press conference."

Sabé's mind was quickly putting together the pieces. "Oh, Padmé, no," she whined.

"Please?" Padmé entreated, squeezing a bit more tightly to Sabé's forearm. "It's just for a few hours. Anakin hasn't been here since— well, since—" a bit awkwardly, her eyes flicked down to her stomach.

It took every ounce of Sabé's self-control to point out that _she_ hadn't seen her sister in over a year and a half. "How are you sure that it's even going to work?" she asked. "I know we're twins, but we're not indistinguishable."

"Two of the species near the Naboo pod don't even see in our light spectrum, and the rest of them are just old men; you know that. Besides, I still sometimes wear the face paint."

Sabé wondered what all those old men would think right now if they could witness the much-vaunted Senator Naberrie bargaining like an eight-year-old for a hall pass. It really was comical. She knew she was one of the handful of people in the galaxy who ever got to see this side of Padmé, on those extremely rare occasions when she let go and actually let herself be petulant like the rest of the universe.

She sighed. "You're sure I won't have to say anything?" she asked.

"I think there might be an acknowledgement. Senator Organa and I did play a small part in trying to help the Chancellor avoid capture, but I doubt he'll ask you to say anything. Although you might want to have something prepared, just in case."

"Padmé!!"

Her sister only gave an infuriating smile. "Oh, come on, Sabé," she pleaded again. "I'm not the only one who uses a stand-in and you know it. The Senate wouldn't fall apart if someone found out, believe me. Please, will you do it?"

Sabé gave a half-hearted scowl. Nobody could ever say no to her sister. "You'd better already have something on hand to make me look pregnant," she advised. "Because I'm certainly not going out to get one."

"Well, I can think of a way you'd probably enjoy, but we can't afford another scandal so close on the heels of mine, can we?"

"Padmé!!" This time Sabé looked at her sister in horror and favored a glare over her shoulder at Anakin, who was chuckling in the background.

"There's also the obvious time factor," Padmé pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Obviously."

"Thank you, Sabé. You don't know how much this means to me."

"Actually," Sabé said softly, almost to herself, "I think I do."

* * *

"How is Sioned doing?"

"She's doing well. She really likes it here. I have a hard time keeping her away from those membrane walls, though. I'm certainly getting my exercise."

"You seem tired."

"I'm almost eight months pregnant, Richard," Yvenne said quietly. "It comes with the territory."

Richard gave her an encouraging smile and then tried to think of something else to say. "Claria called," he finally said, casting on this bit of news. "She wants to have me for dinner tonight. She says she and Ceidron have something important to tell me."

Even with the grainy quality of the holo, it was easy to see the excitement in Yvenne's eyes at this news. "Oh! She should have waited for all of us!" she exclaimed.

"Well, she didn't say what it's about," he pointed out, laughing despite himself.

"Well, she wouldn't, but they've been trying for so long. What else could it be?" Yvenne looked down and rubbed her belly. "Are you going to have another cousin on the way?" she asked. Richard was glad she was looking down so that she couldn't see his wince. He really didn't like to be reminded of Padmé's pregnancy, however roundabout.

Yvenne looked up again. "Anyway," she said, her face still full of glowing joy, "I assume by 'having you over for dinner' that Claria cooks dinner in one of the guest suites and pretends that's where they live when you come over?"

"You know how high the threat is," he said. "We're no closer yet to catching these terrorists, though we are working on a new strategy. I don't like to risk leaving the palace if I don't have to."

"I know, I know. Just—"

"Just what?"

"Ask Claria to call me in the morning, okay? I want to talk to her."

"I will."

"All right. I miss you."

"I miss you too."

More hesitantly, she added, "I love you."

He nodded. "Same here. Good night, Yvenne. Give Sioned a kiss and hug for me."

"I will. Good night, Richard."

She stepped off the holo pad and the transmission ended automatically. Richard turned off his own projector with a sigh and pulled back from his desk, stretching his stiff neck.

The comm unit buzzed. Richard groaned. "What is it?" he called to the thin air.

"Sire," replied his secretary, "the Lady Nashira is here to see you. She doesn't have an appointment."

Richard rubbed his eyes. "No, it's all right. I'll talk to her. Go ahead and send her in."

"Yes, Sire."

A moment later the far door opened, admitting a tall, graceful woman about seven standard years older than Richard. She had jet black hair and luminous skin, and a gown decidedly uninspired by current Naboo fashion trends. "Thank you for seeing me, Your Highness. Am I interrupting?"

"No, no. I just finished a holo call with the queen."

Nashira smiled. "And how is Her Majesty?"

"Well enough. She doesn't like to be in hiding." Richard stood to his feet and began gathering papers and other odds and ends to take back to his quarters for review. Perhaps his dinner with Claria and Ceidron would end early.

"She may not like it, but she is securely hidden. Even I can't divine where you've stashed her away," Nashira added.

Richard looked up at her in mild amusement. "Is that some sort of confession, my lady?" he asked. "Are you trying to read my thoughts?"

"Certainly not, Sire. Even if I wanted to, I've told you I have no talent for such things."

"So you've said. To be honest I don't really understand the things you tell me. But I don't understand what the Jedi mean when they talk about the Force, so I suppose that's no surprise."

Lady Nashira Baveprin, as she called herself, was something of an oddity in the royal court. She claimed no homeworld, but rather an allegiance with a society of nomads called the Fallanassi. It was Padmé who had made the lady's acquaintance, back during her second term in office, and for whatever reason was so impressed with her that she had invited her to Naboo for an indefinite visit as a guest of the court, a visit that had lasted all the way through Richard's first term and now a year into his second.

Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what benefit Padmé had hoped that Nashira would bring to court, nor Nashira's motivations for staying, but he had found her a useful ear at times. She had certainly demonstrated her discretion. "Was there something I can help you with?" he asked.

"Actually, Sire, you were the one who asked to see me. But that was before all that business on Coruscant."

Richard groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. "You're right. I forgot. I'm so sorry."

"Not at all, not at all. I gathered from the nature of your message that you wanted the interview to be of a private nature, so I waited until the excitement died down a little."

"That was well-observed, thank you." Richard circled the desk and held out a hand, indicating the two chairs in front of his desk. "Would you mind sitting for a moment?"

"Certainly not, Your Majesty."

Together they sat. "These are the same chairs my mother used for her office," Richard said. "Sabé used to always say she picked the most uncomfortable ones on purpose." He wriggled a little and made a face. "I think she was right," he said with a laugh.

Nashira, who sat composedly in her own chair, not unlike a queen herself, returned the laugh. "I think I might agree," she said. "You must miss your mother dearly, King Richard, if I may be so bold."

He sobered and gave a wistful nod. "I do. Both of my parents. Very much."

"You're a great credit to them."

"Thank you." He let the awkward pause that followed hang for only a moment. "I wanted to ask you a question about your people. Specifically, about their abilities. _Your_ abilities."

She spread her hands. "What would you like to know?"

"You tried to explain to me once about the White Current, as you call it? It's not the same as the Force? I found that bit confusing."

Nashira pressed her lips together. "Yes and no," she said slowly. "In the broadest sense of comparison, they could be considered the same. But the Fallanassi tap into energies and use techniques disregarded by the Jedi."

Richard decided not to point out that it still sounded to him like they were using two different names for the same thing. "I do recall," he pressed on, "that the applications your people practice include techniques of encryption and disguise."

"That's one way of putting it, but yes. Why the renewed interest, Your Majesty?"

"I may have need to employ such methods in our efforts to track down this terrorist faction that has been trying to assassinate me and my family. Specifically, to assist with infiltration. We haven't had any success with conventional efforts, and I fear that I'm running out of time. Is it possible to use your techniques to alter the appearance of a person?"

"It is. The Jedi can also perform such a feat, though as I said, their technique is different."

"Unfortunately, almost the entire order of Jedi are otherwise occupied fighting the war," Richard pointed out. "Otherwise I would have asked for their help in this investigation a long time ago. Besides," he added, "bringing a Jedi here would raise a warning flag. If this strategy is to succeed, I'd rather have the advantage of surprise. I know that since you're not a Naboo citizen, I can't appeal to your sense of duty, but—"

"I would be happy to help by whatever means I am able, of course, Your Majesty," she said warmly. "I'm very fond of your family."

He nodded. "Thank you. I'll keep you informed when I have further information."

The chrono on the wall beeped and Richard turned to look at it, almost surprised. "Oh," he said and began to rise to his feet. Nashira followed his example. "I'm losing track of the hour. I'm due to dine with my sister and her husband this evening." He walked back around his desk to retrieve his workload. Then he looked up. "Would you maybe care to join us? I'm sure Claria wouldn't mind. She always makes more than enough food, and as far as I know it's just the three of us so far."

"I would be delighted, Your Majesty, thank you. I do not often get the chance to converse with Princess Elsinoré. She has so gracefully managed to keep herself out of the politics to which the rest of your family seems practically wed."

Richard chuckled and shook her head. "You've got the heart of it, there," he agreed. "All right. Meet me at the south wing security checkpoint in an hour. I'll tell the guard to expect you."

"I look forward to it, Sire."

* * *

Ceidron walked in the door to the angry pounding of pots and pans. He held back, wondering for a brief moment if he should just turn around and go back to the house. Anger and cooking weren't a good combination for anyone, and Claria was no exception. But he'd known they were going to have to face this night for almost a week now. There was no backing out.

Mustering his courage, he started taking steps forward until they carried him into the kitchen. Claria was setting the table. He hung back in the doorway, allowing her to spot him but also allowing her to make the first move.

She looked up. There was a glare on her face, but he didn't seem to be feeling its poison. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. She wasn't mad at him.

"I'm not mad at you," she said.

"Then who made you mad?" he asked.

"Richard. He just called to say he invited that creepy Nashira woman to dinner. I couldn't tell him to call it off. They were already on their way."

"Yikes," said Ceidron, stepping forward. "What do you think we should do?"

She stopped mid-motion, a plate in her hand hovering over the table for a moment. Slowly, she set it down and put the freed hand on her hip. She sighed. "Well, I didn't want an audience, but it's not like it's going to stay a secret. We have to tell him, Ceidron. It's going to come out, and if Richard's administration aren't the ones to control the story, it will be just another inconvenience on top of everything else he has to deal with."

"I'm so sorry that my daughter is just another inconvenience."

Claria stiffened. She didn't reply, only resumed putting down plates.

Ceidron reached up and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said.

She shook her head. "It's fine," she said, though her voice was still taut. "You're right. She shouldn't have to become a political issue, but like it or not, that's the whole point of this dinner. Welcome to the dark side of politics."

She walked briskly out of the dining room and into the kitchen, where she started rifling through the cabinet and pulling down glasses. Ceidron followed her. "Hey," he said softly. "We haven't talked about this since, well, since I first told you. Are you okay?"

Claria turned to him with a slight frown but kept working. "What do you mean we haven't talked about it?" she asked. "We've barely talked about anything else."

"Sure, about how to handle it, but we haven't talked about what it means for _us_. Are you okay?" he repeated, this time with pointed emphasis.

At that she paused and turned fully to face him. "No, not exactly," she confessed. "What do you want me to say, Ceidron? I'm not even really mad. It's not like you made it any kind of a secret that you'd been with other women before, I just— I guess it's just one thing to know that and quite another to have evidence of it. Especially since we haven't been able to get pregnant." She turned away, awkwardly, staring at the dish in her hand.

Ceidron stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She was stiff, but she did not push him away. "I know things are going to change," he said quietly. "A lot. And I promise that it doesn't change the way I feel about you in the slightest. But I want to do the right thing here."

She had begun to relax a little as soon as he'd begun to talk, though he knew she couldn't completely. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?" he asked quietly. As of yet, Claria had met neither Jessa nor Larkin. He'd known that she would need time to adjust.

Claria gave a wooden laugh. "Please. I'm still nervous about _tonight_. One thing at a time."

He lowered his lips to her hair, kissing the crown of her head, and hovered there a moment. "I'm sorry this has been hard for you," he murmured.

She turned around and leaned up to embrace him completely. "Me too. But it really helps out that you're so wonderful about it all." She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he said lazily. "I am pretty great."

She snorted into his shirt sleeve, and then pulled away. "Help me set the table."

An hour and a half later, the fine dishes that Claria had prepared were half-eaten on the tabletop, no longer steaming. Ceidron helped her set out the dessert while Richard and his guest discussed the current political situation on Coruscant.

"The Chancellor is due to give an official statement on the whole business tomorrow," Richard was saying. "I have to say, I'm impressed that he's making such a strong gesture of strength so soon after the event. That's what we need at this critical stage."

"So two Jedi nights just swooped in there and got him out?" Claria asked as she set Richard's bowl of cold fruit and custard down in front of him.

"Not just any Jedi nights. Master Obi-Wan and Anakin Skywalker," he said incredulously, twisting around to look up at her. "Claria, haven't you been watching the news the past few days?"

Claria glanced at Ceidron briefly, who despite himself, couldn't keep a small smile from escaping. She averted her gaze and calmly set the final serving of custard for herself. Together, she and Ceidron took their places. "Well, no, actually, Richard, we've been a bit preoccupied." She looked at Ceidron again pointedly.

Both Richard and Nashira turned to Ceidron in curiosity. Richard's expression was bizarrely expectant and hopeful, and Ceidron abruptly realized what 'we have something important to tell you' had probably sounded like. He almost laughed, but managed to hold himself back.

"Oh, yes, um," he said, reaching up a hand to help clear a nervous cough. "First off, I apologize, Lady Nashira, for involving you in a family matter. But we both agreed to go forward." He looked at his brother-in-law. "The thing is, I found out five days ago that I have a daughter."

Lady Nashira, whose spoon had been halfway to her mouth, blinked in surprise and slowly lowered the spoon. Richard just blinked in surprise. Claria looked at Ceidron in grim sympathy.

"You have an illegitimate daughter?" Richard asked.

Ceidron scowled. "All right, first of all, I really hate that expression."

"What expression?"

"'Illegitimate child.' It makes it sound like she doesn't have the right to exist or something. If you want to call somebody illegitimate, at least go for me and her mother."

"Fair enough. And who is her mother, exactly?" Richard asked with raised eyebrows.

"Richard," Claria chastised softly. Her brother looked at her and she looked back, unspoken volumes of meaning in her soft brown eyes.

Richard collected himself and turned back to Ceidron. "My apologies," he said stiffly. "Same question but with all due politeness."

Ceidron still felt a bit bristly but made a pointed effort to move on. "An old school friend of mine," he said. "Well, more than that. A once upon a time serious girlfriend. From Commenor. I came to Naboo shortly after we broke up. I didn't know she was pregnant and she never told me."

"Until now, obviously."

"She's fallen on some financial hardship."

"And now she wants to blackmail the Naboo crown." Richard tossed his napkin on the table beside his bowl. "Lovely."

"No," Ceidron shot back before Claria could intervene again. His voice rose ever so slightly in warning. "She wants me to take care of Larkin now. She hasn't asked me for a decicred, Richard. And I believe I just asked you to stop inferring that my daughter was someone of whom I should be ashamed."

"I didn't—"

"Well, you used the word blackmail. I can only assume you don't want her to be associated with our precious, untarnished family image. In which case, maybe you should worry less about the black sheep brother-in-law and have that heart to heart with Padmé that you've been so longing to have."

Ceidron was leaning forward threateningly and Richard's face was turning red. He opened his mouth with some scathing reply, but never got to make it.

"Enough!" Claria shouted, looking between the two men. Lady Nashira had long since regained her barely-ruffled composure and sat watching the three younger people quietly. Claria turned to the other woman. "Ceidron already made our apologies, Lady Nashira. We were hoping to have this interview with my brother in private. As you can see, this is no reflection on you." At this, she turned a fierce glare on her brother.

"I can assure you, I take no offense," Nashira replied. Setting her own napkin down, she began to rise to her feet. "Would you prefer it if I escorted myself home?"

Richard was still scowling, so it was a moment before he gathered himself enough to give her a stiff nod. "Perhaps that would be best, Lady Nashira. Thank you for your company and may I also apologize for the spectacle you were forced to endure."

"I understand completely, Your Highness. Thank you, Princess Elsinoré, for such a fine meal." She headed to the nearby door and turned around once before leaving. "And of course you have my complete discretion on this matter."

Ceidron nodded. "Thank you, madam, though you won't be forced to maintain your silence for long. It is not something I intend to be kept a secret."

"Good night, then, Your Majesty, Your Highnesses."

When Nashira had gone, the swoosh of the mechanized lock behind her, Claria reached up and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingertips tiredly. "Sit down, both of you."

They sat.

"Richard," she said. "I know that you're under a lot of stress right now, what with Naboo stretched for resources to contribute to the war and the threats to yourself and Yvenne and Sioned, and I know that as ugly and hypocritical as it is, the fact remains that surprise children from the mysterious past of Princess Elsinoré's ill-advised offworld marriage aren't going to do much for you politically."

Richard fumed but did not reply.

"That being said," she continued, "for goodness' sake, _calm down_. You never used to get upset over things like this. Ceidron hasn't betrayed me, or deceived us. There will be a brief period of gossip tongues wagging and in a few months the newness of the scandal will wear off and it won't have made the slightest substantial impact on anything politically."

She sat down wearily and the room was quiet for several long moments. Ceidron picked a spot of the wood grain on the table and stared at it, unwilling to look around lest the sight of his brother-in-law made him riled again.

Finally, Richard inhaled long and deliberately. "This—" he began. "I'm sorry, what did you say your former girlfriend's name was?"

"I didn't. It's Jessa. Jessa Kennich."

"You really don't believe her to be merely exploiting your status with the royal family?"

Ceidron bristled. "No," he said.

"And—" Richard hesitated. "This is an unpleasant question, but I have to ask. It's going to come up with the press— you're sure the child is yours?"

At these words, Ceidron finally felt a bit of chagrin. "Yes," he said. "We've confirmed it."

"It's why we've waited until now to tell you," Claria added quietly.

"And how, may I ask, do you feel about this, Claria?" Richard asked.

She looked at Ceidron. "We want to do the right thing."

"All right. When, exactly, is the right thing going to begin?" Despite the obvious best efforts on Richard's part, a note of sarcasm leaked into his tone.

"We're going to visit them tomorrow," said Ceidron.

"Claria can't be seen in public," Richard protested. "You already know I don't like her living in the city with you."

"And we've allowed our home to be turned into a small fortress to accommodate the danger," Ceidron.

"Why can't this lady and her daughter come visit you there?" Richard wanted to know.

Ceidron shifted uncomfortably. "She's in prison."

At this, Richard merely raised his eyebrows.

Claria licked her lips, looking resigned. "Due to the increased security surrounding Ceidron and the fact that everything was in uproar after the last attack on the palace, Jessa was unsuccessful in making contact with Ceidron. Her visa was in danger of expiring, so to avoid being forced back to Naboo, she— went on a little crime spree."

"Clever," said Richard dryly.

"Well, that was another detail we were hoping you could smooth over," Ceidron put in. "Considering the fact that it's _your_ security protocols that prevent me from getting all of my mail."

Richard considered this carefully. "Fine," he said. "But may I make my own request? Allow my private investigators to do a thorough background check on this woman. If her story checks out, I'll have her moved to the palace under house arrest and we'll straighten things out from there. Until then, please, Claria. Don't go outside."

His request was much softer in tone, a genuine plea rather than a brittle command, and he looked at his sister with eyes of a brother concerned for her life. Ceidron was forced to drop his inner defensiveness. He didn't have to like it, but the threat to the royal family was very real.

Claria looked over at Ceidron and they held gazes for a few moments. Then she turned back to her brother and slowly nodded.

"Good, that's settled." Richard pushed away from the table and got to his feet. "As soon as the background check is finished, I'll have the story put in the news cycle. In the mean time, I have reports that need reading." He put two fingers to the bridge of his nose, much as Claria had done not ten minutes ago.

Claria walked over and gave him a tentative embrace. "Thank you, Richard."

He returned the gesture with tired arms. "Thank you for dinner. It was delicious."

When Richard was gone, Claria started to clear the dishes. Ceidron stepped around and stayed her hand. "Let the cleaning droids do that," he said.

She shook her head, agitated. "You know I need something to do when I'm nervous, Cee."

"I know," he said softly, seizing her other hand.

She looked up at him and rolled her eyes at the expression on his face. "Oh brother," she said, but could not prevent a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.

"If I'm not mistaken, your brother just left. Leaving us all alone."

"Yeah, but we have a mile of fortified tunnels to go through before we're back home."

"As I recall, those tunnels were very advantageous to our relationship once upon a time," he said, leaning down to brush a teasing kiss over her lips. "Besides," he added, increasing his assault of kisses, "who said anything— about—going home?"

"Ceidron—" she said with an attempt at a warning, but giggled when he lowered their hands and made a quick, playful grab for her waist.

"You know, you looked really hot when you were ordering us both to mind our manners just now," he said, pulling away with a huge grin.

"Why is it I can never stay mad at you?" she asked, giving him an appraising look. She slid her arms up and bracketed her hands around his neck.

"Benefits of being a smooth talker, I guess."

"Well, you do have something to show for it, don't you?" she asked with a laugh, leaning up to give him a little tease of her own.

"Touché, Princess," he said. Then he cut her off from any other reply. He was still kissing her soundly when he scooped her off the floor and into the other room.

* * *

"I forgot how much this stupid makeup itches."

To Sabé's right, Ellé giggled. "Yes, Moteé always complains about it too."

"You've never had to decoy?" Sabé asked, turning to the younger girl in surprise.

The handmaiden shook her head. "I'm too short."

"Which is impressive in this family," Sabé muttered, turning to face forward again.

"I suppose I could have just worn tall shoes or something," Ellé admitted, "but Moteé has a better handle on how to react politically should the need arise. My job is more to observe."

Sabé nodded. Much as Rabé had been for Queen Amidala. She turned to her left where her own handmaiden, Maité, seemed very pensive within the folds of her deep, forest green cowl. "Are you nervous?" she asked.

Maité turned and gave her Princess a brave smile. "A little, my lady. I've never been to the capital before, let alone the Senate rotunda."

"Don't worry. It's actually quite a bit easier than diplomatic meetings with Gee Tairn. The odds of nobody expecting us to say anything are nice and high."

At this, Maité smiled.

Their conversation slowly dwindled as the three of them, trailed by two guards from Captain Typho's select contingent, rode the lift to the appropriate level. Sabé assumed a very officious pace as she stepped out into the luxurious corridor, wanting to avoid anybody stopping for chitchat. At last they reached the doorway that led onto the familiar repulsor pod for the representative from Naboo. Sabé suppressed a distasteful sigh as the door opened and the sight of the vast, never-ending sea of similar pods met her eyes. She hadn't actually been back to the Senate rotunda since her mission with Obi-Wan and Anakin investigating the glowquartz crisis. After Richard's wedding there had only been a few more weeks in her term, and nothing urgent that had required her to be back.

After a moment of studying the familiar sight, she stepped out and took her seat. This was a somewhat cumbersome process, and it took a deliberate effort not to roll her eyes to show her displeasure with Padmé. The fake pregnancy belly she was wearing under her clothes made her feel about as ridiculous as she suspected possible for a sentient being to feel.

So far, only about half the senators had arrived. Sabé looked at the crono. There was still about half an hour before the Chancellor was due to make his appearance, and after that it would likely be a full twenty minutes before the applause and pleasantries ran their course and he actually had the opportunity to begin speaking.

"I can't believe she talked me into this," she muttered to Ellé, who gave a knowing smile.

"Better you than me, my lady."

To pass the time, Sabé pointed out various neighbors and newcomers, telling Maité all about their districts, as well as any more colorful tidbits of information that the younger girl might find as a source of entertainment. Steadily, the pods began to fill and the hum of the chatter in the chamber grew increasingly persistent. Media droids began their frantic buzz through the room. Sabé exchanged pleasantries with seven or eight other representatives (she was never entirely sure whether the Daggan Senator was supposed to be counted as one or two), and was just wondering what ways she could demand that Padmé make this up to her, when at last the proceedings began.

* * *

"…Rest assured, though the terror of this war has been unleashed on our very doorstep, though the circumstances seem increasingly grim, the prospects for a speedy and peaceful resolution have not abated. The death of Count Dooku has dealt a hard and decisive blow to the morale of our…"

Obi-Wan had long since learned how to hear a political speech without really having to listen to it. The Council wanted him to not only listen to the speech, but to gauge the Chancellor's moods and the reactions of the crowd that had gathered. Increasing concerns over Palpatine's ever-growing monopoly of power had grown a hundred fold since the last time Obi-Wan had been on Coruscant. As one of the heroes of the Chancellor's recent rescue, nobody would question Obi-Wan's presence here, yet with his attempts to blend in, he was surprised nobody had noticed him yet.

He was fairly certain his former Padawan was not in attendance. He hadn't heard from Anakin since they'd landed, and he didn't like to spend much time thinking about what Anakin might be doing with his impromptu vacation. Such thoughts only made him cranky. Unconfirmed suspicions were much easier to live with.

Still, Obi-Wan's mind could not help but wander to Senator Amidala's booth. News had reached him of the Senator's advanced pregnancy not long after his arrival at the Jedi Temple two days ago. This news had made him even more disgruntled than usual, especially since there were certain mathematical factors that he could not dismiss. He had to admit, he was honestly surprised when he'd learned she was going to be here today.

With a tendril of the Force, he swept past the passengers of the Naboo senator's pod. Then he froze, his mind suddenly emptying of everything— Anakin, the war, the Chancellor's speech— everything except the one thought that had lurked in the back of his mind, quietly resilient, for the past five years.

Sabé.

Sabé was on Coruscant.

* * *

What felt like days later, though in reality it had only been somewhere between two and three hours, Sabé stood to her feet. "What did you think?" she asked Maité as the guards took positions flanking the doorway to the corridor outside. The three girls turned to leave.

"I think the people here like to talk," the girl said tactfully. Sabé smiled.

"Well, let's get back to Senator Amidala's apartments," she said. "I desperately need to wash my face."

As light as she made of the situation, inwardly Sabé was concerned by what she had witnessed in the Senate chamber. She half wondered if Padmé hadn't had a secondary motive for sending her on this errand. The Senate, while as distasteful as ever, had changed, and the sampling she'd just had left a bad taste of foreboding in her mouth.

They were almost to the turbolift that would take them to the landing bay when she saw the guards stiffen out of the corner of her eye. Instantly, Sabé was on alert, looking sharply around but almost as quickly the guard relaxed. Sabé slowed her pace and stopped in her tracks, and her entourage followed suit.

Ben was standing beside the turbolift doors, waiting expectantly. His hands were folded in front of him in a serene Jedi posture. Her stomach flipped a little and she swallowed. The war had taken its toll. He looked so much older, so careworn. She could hardly avoid looking straight into his eyes. There was so much to see there, some of it she could not begin to fathom, but buried deeply was a familiar twinkle and an unmistakable longing. Both were only hers to see.

She cleared her throat. "Master Kenobi," she said formally. Her limbs trembled in rebellion at the act. "What a pleasant surprise. It has been quite some time."

He bowed. "My lady. Always a pleasure. May I extend my congratulations," he added, his eyes resting meaningfully on her false stomach. Suddenly, the wish to be able to glare at him joined the list of all the other things she wished she could do.

"Thank you," she said. If the word was slightly more droll than political niceties would have called for, it was not Sabé's fault. "I believe congratulations are in order to you as well. Your rescue of the Chancellor is already the stuff of legends."

"And as with most legends, greatly exaggerated, I'm sure."

There was a lull. Sabé, who was still feeling too flustered to think of any more posturing, hoped that Ben had some kind of plan, because she couldn't think of a next move. Not one that Amidala would make, anyway. She certainly couldn't invite him back home for dinner.

He cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Senator, I'll not take any more of your time. I merely wanted to stop and say hello to an old friend."

_That's it?_ she wanted to scream at him. "It was a pleasure, Master Kenobi. Very rarely does anyone take the time to stop just for pleasantries these days."

"A tragedy in such times," he agreed. He gave another bow. "May the Force be with you, Senator."

"And with you, Master Kenobi."

He walked away, and it was all she could do not to follow him with her eyes until he vanished from sight. She wanted to kick something. What was he playing at, teasing her mercilessly in this way?

Then she felt something, a heavy pressure on her upper right thigh. Right where her pocket was. She gave the tiniest smile.

The turbolift doors closed on Sabé and her entourage, and she could feel the chamber rotating to face the direction they would exit even as it began to rise swiftly to the upper levels.

Maité broke her formal posture to glance at Sabé worriedly. "Do you think he knew?" she asked.

"Oh, he knew," Sabé said. "He learned to tell the difference a long time ago." She could not quite contain the fond sadness from her voice, thinking back. A glance at her handmaiden brought her quickly back to the present. "Don't worry, Maité. Jedi Kenobi is no threat to the secrets of this family."

It was all Sabé could do to contain her impatience during the interminable journey back to Padmé's apartments. She gave her sister a perfunctory greeting, and with promises to discuss the Senate meeting as soon as she was changed, hastened to her private chambers as soon as possible. Once the doors were closed, her hand dived into her pocket.

It was a small square of cardstock paper, folded once in half. She opened it. _Dex's. Twenty-three hundred hours_. A thrill passed through her from her feet to the crown of her head. She threw the paper into the nearby fireplace and watched it burn, counting down the hours in her mind.

* * *

* * *

**Feedback (for non logged-in reviews):**

**Miims** – Nice to have you on board! I kind of enjoy the Sabé/Obi-Wan myself, obviously. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

**Emerald Green Queen** – Hey, long time no see! I can neither confirm your deny your concerns for our little cast of characters. It's an Episode III fic, so it's not going to be sunshine and daisies. I guess you can count on that much. But we'll have some fun anyways, best we can, yes? The 'spoilt upstart to family glue' description you gave to Sabé made me smile. Never thought about it in quite those terms before.

* * *

**A/N**: I wanted to give all of you, my dearest readers, a heads-up. I need to shelve this story for a few months. Why? I've just started a full-time job with a senior level college class on the side. I am researching for a novel that I'm going to write for Nanowrimo this year, and I had to pick something to take off my plate. The writing was just not going to happen, so making the conscious choice to let myself off the hook for a while was the best one, psychologically speaking. So that's the bad news. The good news is, _I'm not abandoning the story_. Those of you who have been with me for a few years will know, it may take a while, but I'll always get there eventually. The second piece of (even better) news: I have one more chapter in reserve that I can post, and as a token of appreciation to you all, I'll get that one up sometime in the next couple of weeks. It leaves Sabé and Ben in a place that will make a long hiatus much more endurable, I believe. ;-)

Feedback makes my day. You folks are the best and most patient!

Saché


	4. Past Due

**Chapter Four - **_**Past Due**_

"I'm telling you, Richard, I've never seen anything like it. The Senate was like some sort of grim caricature of itself. All the pomp and speeches were there, but they all look at the Chancellor out of the corner of their eye for permission to snort."

Richard did not attempt to mask his surprise as he leaned forward toward his sister's hologram. "If it's that extreme, I'm surprised Padmé hasn't been up in arms about it. Once upon a time I wouldn't have heard the end of it."

"Which just goes to show how ridiculously stubborn you're both being."

"I'm not being stubborn, Sabé; she's the one who—"

"Richard. I really don't want to get into it."

He pressed his lips together and took a breath. "Remind me again, why are you even there? I could definitely use the eyes on Malastare."

"The last few months have been very hard on her, Richard. Hard without precedent, and understandably so. The Chancellor's kidnapping was the last straw. I'm just here to help her out for a few weeks. I may even stay until the baby is born."

Richard leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying not to snap. It wasn't like he had any real power over his sisters. They'd always done exactly as they pleased. "I could make it an order," he pointed out weakly.

"Richard, really."

"All right, all right. Could you do me a favor, though? Send me the holovid of some of the recent Senate sessions. I want to see this revitalized Republic culture for myself."

"All right. How are Yvenne and Sioned?"

"They're fine. They're still in hiding. I can't tell you where."

"I know. And how are things coming with the reelection campaign? I have to imagine it's been pretty hard to squeeze in plans."

"To a point," he agreed, picking up a stylus from his desk and fiddling with it idly. He rocked back and forth in his chair slowly. "But it's really the least of my concerns right now. Sometimes I wonder why even bother. I know I'm going to win reelection. Taking time out for the formalities really puts a cog in the works, and I've had so many other cogs as it is."

Sabé gave him a puzzled look. "Well, we're a democracy. I don't know what you plan to do about it."

"True," he said brusquely.

There was a pause, and Sabé looked beyond his line of sight. "I've got to get going. I have a meeting tonight."

He frowned. "With whom?"

She shrugged. "More business for Padmé. Nothing important."

"Kind of late, isn't it?"

"Richard, one of these days you're going to have to spend some quality time here in the duracrete beast."

"When tusk cats fly."

Sabé gave a smile. "Good night, Richard."

"Good morning, Sabé."

The transmission cut short, and Richard fiddled with the stylus a moment more, pieces of their conversation still echoing around in his head. He leaned forward to put the stylus back on the desk and his eyes fell on a holo of Yvenne and Sioned. His wife and child were on the other side of the planet, but even when they were here it felt like they were a million light years away. On this particular morning, they seemed like total strangers.

"Your Majesty."

Richard turned his head toward the comm. "Yes?"

"Captain Barris and Secretary Joolis are here for their appointment."

"Send them in."

A few moments later, Richard's press secretary and head of security were seated across the desk from him. "What can you tell me about Jessa Kennich?" he said, putting his elbows on the desk and leaning forward, an effort go get his head back in the game.

"Jessa Kennich," Barris plunged forward predictably. "Born on Commenor twenty-six standard years ago, low income family. Father deceased, mother lives with an older sibling, a brother, Lisdro Kennich. A third sibling, a sister, lives on Coruscant and has not had live contact with the family in several years. Before completing Commenor's standard education, Kennich was already a youth member of several socialist societies, very vocal on government reform and she went on to pursue a degree in political science at the capital city on a one-year scholarship. That's where she met Lord Ceidron.

"They appeared to have maintained a romantic relationship for well over a standard year, though admittedly it's hard to do anything but speculate on that count. Ceidron Metz left Commenor for Naboo six and a half standard years ago. Larkin Kennich was born in Commenor city shortly thereafter.

"Because of her past political ties, Jessa has found it difficult during the war to retain steady employment. She's been living on debt for several years, but her creditors are becoming aggressive, particularly with regard to her scholastic loans."

"So she came here," Richard said, filling in the only part of the story he knew, the conclusion. "To let the little girl's sellout father take care of her." He reached up to rub the end of his nose thoughtfully. "Claria maintains that Ceidron knew nothing about this."

"As far as I can tell, Sire, she's made no effort to contact him outside of the past five months. All of her letters were rejected through the security screening process."

"And you've verified the paternity tests."

"Yes, sire. The child is definitely Lord Ceidron's."

"Why do I always get the urge to laugh anytime someone calls him that?" Both Captain Barris and Secretary Joolis remained silent. Richard turned to the other man. "Lars," he said, "take time to read through all of Captain Barris's report. We'll release the story tomorrow. At this time, Lord Ceidron plans to stand by his child and her mother, but we don't know yet to what extent or in what form that support will take."

"Yes, Sire. I'll prepare remarks for you to review in the morning. Will Lord Ceidron and the young lady be joining us?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm having dinner with them tonight. I'll discuss it with you then. That will be all for now; the captain and I have more to discuss."

"Thank you, Sire."

Richard waited until Joolis had left the room. "Any word from Agent Kal and his team?"

Barris pulled a tiny datachip from his breast pocket. Richard collected it almost greedily. "The list is longer than I'd like, but these are the names of everyone in Naboo's aristocracy even remotely connected with the reconstruction of the palace after the battle. Parliamentary oversight committees, financial influence for materials contracts, etcetera. It gives us a place to start."

"We need to learn more," Richard said, holding the datachip by two corners and staring at it hungrily as if by doing so he could find the answer between the circuits. "Somehow. We need to speed this up. With Yvenne and Sioned safe, I think it's time to take some calculated risks." He glanced at Barris. "I'm going to the ceremony."

Barris frowned. "No, Your Highness, we've discussed this. It's far too risky and the Gungans have already expressed their understanding."

Carefully, Richard set the datachip down on his desktop. "It won't be too risky. I have an idea. We'll discuss it more in private. In the bunker, tonight. Right now I have to get ready for a meeting with the cabinet. Thank you, Captain."

Still looking sour, Barris got to his feet and headed for the door. Before he'd reached it, a couple of Richard's tumbling thoughts spilled out of his mouth. "Barris," he called.

"Sire?"

"Kennich. How would you assess her politically if she were here under other circumstances?"

"What do circumstances have to do with it?"

Richard gave a dry smile. "Of course. Well?"

"She's borderline radical. She's never demonstrated violent or revolutionary tendencies but many of the people she's associated with in the past have caused the Commenor government a grave deal of concern."

"Like you said about Ceidron, when he first got involved with Claria."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Is she smart?"

"Her scholastic performance was exemplary, indicative of high memory retention and strong instincts."

"So, she's good with the facts _and_ the street smarts."

"Sire, may I ask to what all these questions tend?"

Richard pushed the datachip along the edge of the desk thoughtfully. "I'll get back with you on that."

* * *

The smell of Coruscant meant a thousand things to Sabé. It was her awe and fright coming here for the first time, freshly thrust out of childhood. As a Senator it had been power and politics, one giant headache, really. Part of it was Ben.

Admittedly, Ben could be found a number of places. The desert stars of Tatooine, the heady jungles of Jenispra, the pounding waterfalls that fell away from her very own palace on Naboo. But Coruscant was the closest thing he had to a home. She always felt him here, even when she couldn't see him, which was most of the time.

Grateful for a city that paid no mind to those with an obvious secret in tow, Sabé watched a limited patch of Coruscant nightlife through the large cowl of her garnet red cloak. There was a slight danger of someone assaulting her from behind, but with so many lights and so many witnesses, the cautionary thought made only a perfunctory journey through her mind.

She stopped when she came in sight of Dex's. The diner was illuminated within and without as garishly as everything else on the street. Loud music blared from somewhere, but she couldn't tell if it was coming from Dex's place or the new club that had just opened next door.

Someone brushed past Sabé hard from behind, causing her to trip forward a couple of paces. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the flittergnats in her stomach, and hurried forward. Taking one look at the crowd inside the diner's public area, she opted for a less busy tack. The alley around to the back kitchen door didn't smell very good, but it was only slightly worse than the street when you really got down to it. And Dex was in a very good part of town.

It took three attempts at banging on the door to finally get someone's attention. "No handouts! Go away!" An extremely skinny twi'lek cook scowled out the door. He squinted a few seconds into the darkness before he finally found Sabé. "Although you look far too well-dressed to be begging," he added, though his scowl didn't fade.

She lowered her hood. "Can I talk to Dex? I'm an old friend."

"We're kind of busy, miss, or didn't you notice?"

Sabé reached into her pocket and pulled out a small red stone, streaked with pale yellow veins and polished to a shine. "Just give him this. You can keep it afterward, if you want. It's not really worth much."

The cook, as she assumed he was, took the _karatine_ from her hand and glanced at it with barely marginal interest. "Can't you just go away?"

"No."

"All right, but—"

"Out of the way, out of the way!!"

Like the words were his prophetic doom, the twi'lek was suddenly swept aside from Sabé's vision and the doorway darkened with the burly form of Dex Jettster. "There's my favorite little princess!" he bellowed.

Sabé grinned. "It's been a long time."

"Well, get on up with you, then." Dex practically bundled Sabé up the three stairs into the back kitchen himself, all the while bellowing orders at the mystified cook. "Marco, I want a plate of your best chuscos and make it yesterday. For my special guests." At the word 'guests' Sabé's breath caught in her throat, but nobody heard.

Marco looked more angry at Sabé for being vindicated than he had when he'd thought she was just a nuisance but he sluffed off to do as his boss ordered. Dex drew her in close and started leading her with surprising grace through the myriad stoves and counters. Pieces of vegetable and things Sabé probably didn't want to know about flew through the air all around them. "Sorry about that, _maati_, I assumed you'd be coming in the front door."

"So you were expecting me."

He chuckled, and the gesture made Sabé rock on her feet. "Oh yes," he said, still laughing deeply from his belly. "I knew." He pushed open a side door and shoved her gently through it. She turned to see it close behind her, and saw Dex through the small round window, already back to intimidating his staff.

Sabé swallowed, and turned quickly back around to examine the small room. It looked to be a private dining area of some kind, or perhaps a staff meeting or break room. There was a scuffed table and pair of chairs and some tacks on the wall for paper messages.

There was also a Jedi Master slowly lowering his cowl in the far corner.

For a moment she stared at him awkwardly. The void of time was far more insurmountable than she'd imagined. Seeing him in the Senate gallery, she'd been much too irritated by all the incidental obstacles to conceive she might find one in herself. In that moment, she was afraid. Afraid that the war had changed too many things, that— maybe— he didn't—

And then, that gentle smile, and those eyes, warmer than a thousand embraces from lesser men. "Princess," he greeted quietly.

"Ben." Her doubt vanished almost as quickly as she was able to rush across the room to him. His arms were open and then she was closed inside them, safe, and heedless to anything else.

* * *

"Mommy, this itches."

Out of the corner of her eye, Jessa saw her daughter fidgeting with the stiff, lace-trimmed bodice of the gown she had been provided. She made a longsuffering expression that mirrored the little girl's and turned to regard her own reflection. "You and me both, sweetie," she said. It wasn't that the gown was uncomfortable, exactly, it was that she felt like a piffling idiot.

She beckoned to her daughter, who came over grudgingly, tugging on the collar of the sky blue septsilk dress they had given her. Jessa examined the garment. "There's enough lace on here to kill a nerf," she muttered. "The least they could do is make it a ruffle. You're right, this is the itchiest lace in the galaxy." She examined the seam that held the lace to the collar of the dress and smirked. "Hold still."

The sounds of ripping lace masked the sounds of the handmaiden who entered the room. Jessa didn't hear her until she was shouting.

"Excuse me, what exactly do you think you're doing? That lace is Hapan! Do you have any idea how expensive it is? And you've frayed the septsilk, look!" The girl, whatever her name was, hurried over and began frantically fussing over Larkin's non-itchy collar.

"Excuse _you_," Jessa said with a scowl, putting her hands on the intruder's shoulders and hauling her off. "I'll thank you not to touch my daughter."

"When the princess finds out—"

"I didn't ask the princess to put my daughter in overpriced doll's clothes, so if she gets her sheets in a knot she can take it up with herself. Anyway, if the Hapans think so highly of their lace, maybe they could make it a little softer."

"I've often thought that myself."

Both Jessa and the handmaiden turned to see a young, pretty blond woman standing in the doorway, surveying the scene with calm interest.

"Your Highness," the handmaiden bowed.

"Selmé, could you leave us alone for a moment?"

"Yes, my lady." Selmé spared a sideways glare for Jessa and hurried out the door.

Jessa straightened and pulled Larkin protectively to her. She schooled her features into an impassive expression as she sized up the smaller woman. Princess Elsinoré. Ceidron's wife. They hadn't actually met yet.

The two women stared at each other for a long moment. Jessa knew there was challenge in her eyes. If Her Royalness expected her to apologize for the gown she wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. Finally, the princess cleared her throat. "I, um—" she stepped forward, wringing her hands uncertainly. "I'm Claria. It's nice to meet you."

Claria. That was what Ceidron had called her.

"I'm Jessa. And this, of course, is Larkin."

Claria's eyes rested almost painfully on the little girl. It wasn't disdain, but there was definitely pain. She forced a smile. The attempt, at least, was genuine, even if she didn't fully succeed. "It's nice to meet you too, Larkin."

Larkin pressed back against Jessa's legs. Jessa nudged her forward, swallowing. "Say hello, Larkin."

After a beat, Larkin sullenly obeyed. "Hello."

Claria held her sad smile a moment longer and gave a sigh. "We'll talk some more at dinner, if you'd like that," she said to the girl. She looked up at Jessa. "If you two are ready, I'll escort you to the dining hall."

"You can't send a servant to do that?" Jessa blurted.

Claria stiffened. She quickly schooled her features and smiled. "I wanted to introduce myself. Without Ceidron. I decided it would be less awkward. Was I right?"

Jessa bit her lip. "Maybe," she said after some consideration. There had to be more to this woman than a pretty face spoiled in glamour. Ceidron Metz could not possibly have fallen for anything so superficial. That didn't make the idea of handing her daughter over to her care any less awful to consider. She straightened her shoulders. "We're ready." she said.

They followed the princess out of the living area of the spacious suite they had been given, down the corridors toward the heart of the palace. Two more handmaidens— Jessa had long since given up trying to keep track of how many there actually were; these two wore cowls and she knew from experience that they were highly unlikely to speak the entire evening— left their posts at the door and followed behind a discreet distance. Larkin's eyes tried to take in everything at once. No matter how much she saw of this place, she couldn't quite seem to get her fill. Small wonder; her entire childhood had been composed of duracrete halls and frayed carpeting.

"I'm sorry Yvenne and Sioned won't be able to join us." Claria finally broke the silence.

Jessa frowned, thinking. "The Queen," she finally supplied.

Claria nodded. "My brother's wife. They were sent away to a secret location after the last attack. I don't know if— " she glanced at Jessa, her brow furrowed in thought, and then her expression cleared. "Oh, yes you were here already. I remember, Ceidron told me you got stuck in the spaceport."

"That's right."

"I am sorry for that."

What Jessa privately wanted to ask was just how often in the princess's life she'd been in any way bureaucratically inconvenienced, but she bit her tongue and muttered some kind of rote assurance.

The three of them continued in silence until they reached the dining area, which was in a spacious room designed to look like an outdoor colonnade, complete with hanging lanterns and candles. Richard Naberrie, the king of the Naboo, was sitting at the head of the table. Ciedron was to his left. Both men stood to their feet when the women entered the room.

Claria went around the table to the place at Richard's right. Jessa just shuffled Larkin in the general direction of the table, uncertain of what to do next. When Claria reached her place, she cleared her throat and gave Ceidron a meaningful look.

Ceidron met Jessa's eyes and made the briefest of expressions that seemed to say _Yes, this is what my life has become. You have my permission to laugh._ Aloud, he said, "Jessa Kennich, may I present His Sovereign Majesty, Richard Naberrie of Naboo. Richard, Jessa and Larkin Kennich." Ceidron's eyes rested on Larkin, his face as ambivalent as Claria's had been, his eyes almost fearful, but quietly longing.

Though Ceidron had been introduced to Larkin as her father, the two of them had barely had more than three minutes to get to know one another, and Jessa rather suspected this was largely due to a skittishness on Ciedron's part. She hadn't called him on it. Yet.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Jessa," said the king. She turned her attention from her former lover to regard Naboo's boy king at last face to face. He was almost six years her junior and had hands that were far too fine for her to feel any real respect for him.

"Your Majesty," she managed with a stiff nod. "Thank you for inviting us."

Jessa glanced at the two remaining place settings, which were on the opposite sides of Claria, and Ceidron, respectively. She frowned, wondering which she was expected to take and which was meant for Larkin, and rather wishing they weren't being separated.

Princess Claria seemed to perceive all of this in an instant. "Jessa, why don't you take this place and Larkin can sit beside you? I think that would make everything more convenient, wouldn't it?"

Grateful she didn't have to make another scene, even a small one, Jessa quickly accepted. She pretended not to notice the fidgeting of some of the staff in the corners of room. It was highly irregular for her to take a higher place than the princess at this table, but it wasn't as if she'd asked for any of this posturing, anyway.

When they had all been seated, the same staffers began pouring drinks. Jessa wondered how many courses there were and how long it would take them to get to the conversation of substance.

* * *

Dinner was a stilted affair. Claria bore her mantle as hostess with admirable patience, keeping the talk going whenever it threatened to lapse into silence. Ceidron did his best to help her, but his concentration kept getting pulled in the direction of the little girl sitting beside Jessa, trying to sort out everything he felt when he looked at her. Mostly what he felt was a keen, unfathomable pain, which confused him.

Larkin had straight hair, almost black, that fell just above her shoulders, and dark eyes that took in everything. She was clearly very bright. He noticed that she endured the adults' conversation much longer than he would have expected, studying each person's face as they spoke and making faces of puzzlement and concentration whenever something in the conversation proved beyond her reach.

He had hoped for... something on her part when they were first introduced. An unspoken bond, a subconscious connection, some sort of father-daughter _magic_ that supposedly existed. But though his daughter regarded him with polite interest, she didn't manifest any sort of particular enthusiasm for him, and he was surprised to find he found himself almost affronted.

But after all, what should she feel toward him? He had never been a part of her life. As far as she knew, he wouldn't be any relevant part of her future, which was going to make the upcoming conversation pretty interesting. He glanced at Jessa. Why hadn't she done anything to prepare this child for the total uprooting of her life?

Ceidron heard Richard clear his throat and forced himself to the here and now, recognizing that the throat-clearing had been official in nature. Richard was finally bringing them to the point of this whole, awkward little pageant.

"Jessa," he said with delicacy that was almost condescending. Ceidron bit back the impulse to sigh in exasperation. "Tomorrow I intend to release your story to the press. You aren't under any pressure or obligation, of course, but any proactive involvement on your part would be appreciated."

Jessa's brow furrowed. "Such as?"

"A statement, perhaps. Maybe an interview with one of the prominent news journals. My press secretary can school you in the best language."

Ceidron's mouth twitched in a lesser echo of the smile— almost mocking— with which Jessa replied to these words. "The best language?" she repeated. She considered for a moment, still holding a choice selection of words behind the barrier of her teeth before she said carefully, "No, thank you, Your Majesty, I think it would be better for both of us if I maintained a low profile in all of this business. I believe you would it a more ... diplomatic course of action."

Ceidron coughed a quiet chuckle into his hand and Claria threw him a tiny glare. Richard merely regarded Jessa with the calm respect of a rival _krannack_ player and nodded his head marginally. "All right," he said. "And what may we say with regard to arrangements for the girl?"

Larkin, who had been beginning to fidget despite her admirable patience, was immediately all ears. Jessa glanced at her briefly and uncomfortably, then back at Richard. "I guess I don't understand. What's to discuss? I think I've made my situation and my desires pretty clear."

"Not as clear as we would like. Forgive me, but I have no idea if we should expect this to be an irrevocably permanent arrangement, or if you would prefer something more flexible, or—"

"Richard," Ceidron blurted out. He wasn't sure who he was most annoyed with: Jessa, for forcing them to have this conversation so uncomfortably (given Larkin's ignorance), Richard, for being a pinhead about the whole thing, or himself, for not having the courage to act on the point sooner. He caught his brother-in-law's gaze. "Please, stop. You're taking what should be my part in this conversation and it's kind of embarrassing."

"For me or for you?" Richard replied coolly.

Ceidron bit back a snap response and took a steadying breath. "Would you mind if Jessa and I discussed this privately first, please?" Claria looked between them all with an unreadable expression.

"Of course."

Ceidron stood up. "We'll be right outside."

Looking less than thrilled, Jessa set her napkin on her plate and pulled away from the table as well. "Sweetie, stay and talk to Princess Claria for a few minutes," she said to Larkin, squeezing her shoulder. "Mommy will be right back."

Ceidron led her out of the dim room into the evening-lit corridors, the down the hall a ways, well out of earshot. When he stopped, they squared off on opposite sides of the hallway, both bristling with caution. Ceidron knew it was up to him to get this started, but there were a lot of things that needed to be said and he had no idea what should come first.

"Why haven't you told her yet?" he blurted.

"What?"

"Larkin. If you came here so resolved to give her up, why doesn't she have a clue what's going on?"

Jessa gave an indolent shrug. "Knowing her, she _does_ have some sort of clue. I wouldn't put it past her."

"Well, I could understand if she was suspicious," he said, "but there's a huge difference between insubstantial bedtime fears and something life-shattering that your mommy is keeping from you."

"Oh, so now you're an expert on handling children?"

"Wow, it didn't take you long to pull that card, did it?" Ceidron ran his hands into his hair and tugged slightly. "Very classy, Jessa. Almost as classy as never telling me I had a child. Care to explain that, by the way?"

"You went to _Naboo_."

"I wasn't planning on _staying_."

At this, Jessa could only snort.

He pressed his lips together and glared at her. "Yes, I admit, things went pretty far off plan, but you don't think I would have cared? That coming back wouldn't have been a priority?"

"You never would have met your princess," she retorted.

"Dammit, Jessa," he said. "Stop avoiding the point. You were always good at avoiding the point, which is a shame, because you're much too smart for that. You want to know what I think?"

She sighed. "What's that?"

"You haven't told her because you don't want to give her up. You're hoping for a miraculous solution to your problem. You can still keep Jessa. You can still raise her. All you have to do is ask."

Jessa was tight as one of the strings on his wife's clavaria. "You want me to beg your rich friends for money so you don't have to take the responsibility," she clarified.

"No, I'm telling you that you don't have to let your pride keep you from what you want," he said, his voice rising slightly. "Believe me, now that you've spilled the milk, you're not getting rid of me. But don't be too stiff-necked to keep from being happy."

He watched her stand in stony silence, not able to look at him. Her jaw was set stiffly and she seemed to almost be chewing on her tongue to avoid saying anything until she'd regained her composure. Finally, she met his gaze squarely. "You might have gotten comfortable with taking handouts from people, Richard, but I haven't. I've fought my entire life against establishments like this one."

"The Naberries are good people."

"Yeah, your brother-in-law seems like a real charmer."

Ciedron shuffled his feet and gave a sigh. "It's been hard," he said, "with the war."

"Anyway, it doesn't matter how idyllic or well-intentioned they are. The system here has become too comfortable. Comfort is corruption; eventually something's going to rot. You know that."

"I know," he said quietly.

"So—" she faltered. "Why—?" The question hung unfinished between them, heavy with hurt and implications.

"I love her, Jess. The rest of it isn't easy on me. But it's worth it."

She considered this before giving a humoring nod, as though she really couldn't understand. "I don't want to be beholden to your king," she said, "and I imagine he would prefer to avoid the appearance of blackmail on my part. This place and all this extravagance makes me more nervous than a nerf on a shooting range, but I can't deny Larkin steady food on the table and a good education. I trust you enough to make sure she's not brainwashed."

"Thank you for that."

"And yes, to answer His Majesty's question, if I get back on my feet then I'll be back to get her. But I'm doing it myself."

"At least let me—"

"No. We'll discuss it if— when— the time comes. I'm sorry I cut you out, Ceidron. I wanted to avoid— well, _this_."

"Are we done then?"

"I think so."

"All right, let's go tell them."

"First we should tell Larkin."

Her voice was small, and Ceidron paused his racing thoughts to peer more closely at her face, which was just about as distraught as he'd ever seen it. "Come here," he said, pulling her close, the gesture bringing back a cacophony of memory. "It's going to be fine, Jess. You're going to make it. Both of you."

He let her sob until her sobs were dried up. He would not have Jessa Kennich, who dined with kings with her head held high, face off against Richard Naberrie again from a place of frailty.

* * *

Over the past interminable years, Sabé feared her memory had exaggerated the feeling of being in Ben's arms. That his kiss hadn't really been _that_ perfect, that she couldn't possibly have thrilled so completely in every nerve. That she hadn't really sensed, beneath his careful, tender restraint, a penned up passion that crackled like lightning in a secret place she suspected that only she had ever seen.

Well, she reasoned, faulty memory worked in both directions. She'd never imagined she could have _short_changed what she remembered. She breathed deeply, catching that musky, traveled scent of his robes. Her hands were around his face, brushing against the foreign prickle of his beard and she inhaled deeply again when his arms tightened around her, bending her slightly backwards as their kiss strengthened.

She broke off, breathless, but did not stray far from his mouth. "We are worse than a pair of teenagers," she muttered. "I'm starting to doubt your absolute Jedi celibacy over all these years."

He gave a brief, tiny smirk. "I have a very extensive and mysterious past, Princess." He leaned in again and she obliged, closing her eyes. This time kiss was still, poised and reverent, and a brief image of Claria holding a fermata during one of her concertos skipped in and out of Sabé's mind before she quietly broke it off again, licking her lips briefly and opening her eyes to gaze at him. Then she gave a satisfied sigh and put her head on his shoulder. He pulled her into a more comfortable hold on the rickety chair they were sharing.

"Do you think we gave Dex a shock?" she pondered aloud.

"Somehow I doubt it. Dex is masterfully intuitive. But I suppose we should probably eat those chuscos, since he suffered so much trauma to bring them for us."

"Good point. I guess he's our secret-keeper now. For whatever that's worth."

"Sabé—"

"It's all right, Ben. You know I would never ask anything of you. This is enough."

"No, it isn't." His voice was distant, hard, wistful, all at the same time.

She listened to the echoes of his words for a long handful of hearbeats. "No, it isn't," she repeated in a small voice. She reached up to touch his face, sadly. "You look so tired."

"Better than I have been for some time, though, I assure you. It's good to have a rest. I'm not sure what's more exhausting, fighting the war or... keeping him in check."

Sabé squirmed. No need to clarify who 'him' was. The thought was not lost on her that at this very moment, Anakin and Padmé were probably engaging in such shocking behavior as that which compromised Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, except in _their_ case—

She let that thought die before it could bother her too much. There was one thing, though, that she didn't feel right about. Padmé had asked for her silence, but surely Obi-Wan could be trusted with Anakin's secret. Sabé was sure he cared more about Anakin than he did the opinion of the Council. "Ben," she said, after a deep breath, "I think I should tell you—"

He squeezed her arm gently and she closed her mouth. "Don't," he said, in a reassuring warning. "There are some points of knowledge with which I have been

keen to remain unacquainted."

"It's really unfair that you can read my mind, you know."

"I can't read your mind, Sabé, I only—"

She wriggled free slightly and put a finger on his lips. "I know, I know. You know what I mean." She searched his eyes. "It still isn't fair."

"Then don't trust me so much," he replied, amused. "You're the one who makes it so easy."

"When I saw you today—" Sabé said. "Well, I can't even really describe how I felt."

"I was surprised to discover you there. The last I heard you were still on Malastare."

"You've been busy. And much too secretive for my tastes. It's not like I can just comm the Jedi Council every morning and ask them if you're still alive. Especially when I'm not even planetside," she added wryly. "I only just got here. Padmé called me when the Chancellor was first kidnapped. She's going to be needing a lot of help once the baby is born."

A brief expression of distaste flashed across Ben's eyes at mention of Padmé's pregnancy, but he said nothing about it. "I think we should be getting back," he said at last. "We'll both be missed."

"Will I see you again?" she asked. She hated that she couldn't even qualify the question.

In response, he kissed her softly, lingeringly. "I know I am a hypocritical old Jedi," he said, "but that does not make the Force any less genuine. No matter what happens, Sabé Vána, I will always see you again."

* * *

**A/N**: Well, like I said, this is the last chapter in the bank for now. Although I may try to write a little before November just so I can figure out the best strategies for hitting my daily word count for Nanowrimo. As I said, I think there are worse places that loyal and wonderful readers could be left hanging. ;-)

Feedback is chocolate! Especially since I've already eaten my daily allotment of sweets! ;-)


	5. Appearances

**Chapter Five - **_**Appearances**_

When Jessa first heard the door chime to her quarters she assumed it to be a mistake. A drunken courtier who got the wrong door, perhaps. She looked at the chrono, registered the extreme lateness of the hour, and with a small groan of annoyance turned back around on the bed and endeavored to get back to sleep.

The door chimed again. And again. And kept chiming.

Swearing, Jessa clambered blindly out of bed—which was about three times the size of the one she had back on Commenor— and groped her way through the suite until she came to the door.

"What?" she snapped. "You're going to wake my daughter."

The royal guard on the other side blinked in surprise at her state: her tousled hair, prominent scowl, and scanty nightclothes probably made for an unsophisticated sight, but really, what did he expect? He was the one who had been ringing her doorbell so rudely for the past minute.

Recovering, the young man pressed his lips together, looking genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but the king requests your presence immediately."

One hand on either side of the doorframe, Jessa could only fix him with a dark, disbelieving stare. "I beg your pardon? _Why_?"

"He didn't say. If you'll come with me, please?"

Jessa sighed. Though he was obviously reluctant, the guard was clearly under instructions to see that she obeyed the royal summons. "Fine," she said, pushing back from the door. "I'll get changed. Unless His Hoitiness is in such a rush that he'll accept me into his presence thusly attired?" She made an exaggerated gesture at her clothes. She's always hated wearing a lot of clothes to bed, even in cold weather. They made her feel smothered.

The guard gave an acquiescent clearing of his throat. "Very good, ma'am."

Ten minutes later, she was following him through the long, sleepy corridors back toward the royal sections of the palace. Though she was curious, Jessa didn't bother trying to conjure a guess as to what King Richard wanted with her. She'd find out soon enough, and besides, she was too brain-weary as it was. She had spent two hours tossing and turning, dreading the morning to come and the king's press release.

Jessa recognized the pavilion thingy where they'd had supper that night, but once they passed that she was in unfamiliar territory. She wondered if Ceidron was also being beckoned to wait on the king's pleasure at such an unseemly hour. She hoped so. It would serve him right to have to suffer along with her.

Finally, they arrived at a corridor much grander than the ones they'd been walking through, which had been luxurious enough in their own right. This corridor was wide, vaulted, lined with large paintings and windows, so that in the daylight it must be a gorgeous display of light and architecture. For now, though, everything was dimly lit by electric lights on wall sconces made to give the impressions of candles all down the wall. The guard approached a pair of richly-carved double doors equally as tall as the corridor, flanked by two more guards, and stopped.

The guard to the right of the door nodded at them and spoke into his wrist. "Your Majesty, she's arrived."

"Send her in, please."

"Very good, Sire." The door guard looked at Jessa and nodded, even as he pulled open the gigantic door for her benefit. Cautiously, she stepped through.

The room beyond was as open and as dim as the corridor behind it. The size of the room made it seem sparsely furnished, but really, when she stopped to count there were a fair number of beautiful pieces. The main one was a long, polished _teka_-wood desk straight ahead of her, behind which Richard Naberrie was sitting in the low light.

There were two chairs in front of the desk. One was empty, but the other was occupied by a nondescript-looking man. At his side was a woman, standing at attention, leading Jessa to suppose she was some kind of military.

"Please come in, Jessa," Naberrie called.

Jessa glanced behind her, to see the door was already latching closed. She exhaled and turned back toward the desk, being careful to moderate her pace so she didn't betray anything that might suggest she was feeling nervous.

Richard held out a hand to the empty chair and she stiffly obeyed, taking her seat with as much reluctance as she could figure out how to communicate. Then she fixed him with a stare. "You rang?"

"I apologize for the lateness of the hour."

"Actually, it's more early than late."

"That it is." The king gestured to the man sitting in the chair. "This is Captain Joppa Kal, one of the leading members of my intelligence forces, and his associate Desmé Teelis."

If Jessa had been confused before, she had lost all capacity for reasonable explanations now. "Okay," was all she could think to say.

"They already know who you are."

"Well. Wonderful." After a beat she asked, "What am I doing here in the middle of the night with intelligence agents?"

"Because I would like to cut a deal with you. You see, I am having a little problem with some terrorists and I think you might be able to help me."

Jessa laughed. The sound was swiftly lost in the vast, well-insulated room. "Yes. I'll get right on that. Helping you. Really high on my priority list."

Out of the corner of her eye, Captain Joppa Kal opened his mouth in slight offense, but Richard held up a hand and he closed it again.

"I know you don't think well of me, Jessa, and I'll admit I haven't been endearing, but circumstances of late have forged me into something of a pragmatist. I'm _hoping_ you'll help me, if I can offer something you want in return."

"And what would that be?" she asked sarcastically.

"The financial means to raise your daughter unencumbered in any way and anywhere you see fit."

Jessa stared at him. "Are you bribing me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. A bribe would imply that I find you to be some kind of threat against me. We've already aired the fact that Larkin's admission to the royal family is a political wrinkle, but it's hardly worth an intergalactic cover-up for its own sake."

"Well, thank you for that."

Abruptly, the king got to his feet with a slight scowl and turned to look out the vast window behind him into the black of the Naboo evening. He was quiet a moment. Then he said, more gently, "I have a daughter too, you know."

She raised her chin, wary. "I know."

"A daughter, a son on the way, and a mother to both of them whom I love very much. A few weeks ago they were almost killed in an assassination attempt. I believe the fallout from those events made your arrival here somewhat inconvenient."

"Yes. Yes, they did. I'm sorry for what happened, though."

"So am I. And I want to put a stop to it."

"You think I can help you with that?" Jessa made no attempt to disguise her skepticism.

"Yes." He turned abruptly back to face her. "I request that you infiltrate these terrorists and gather enough evidence to implicate and expose them."

Jessa glanced back at Captain Kal. She supposed the tightness of his face to betray his uncertainty about this proposal, and could only wonder if his disapproval was more of the risk involved or of her. "All right, let's backtrack a moment," she said, returning her attention to the king. "You want me to go undercover, like I'm some sort of secret agent? I don't have the training for that. I need more details."

"You have all the details you're going to get unless you agree," Naberrie said matter-of-factly. "The essential thing you need to understand is that you'll be attempting to infiltrate a highly secretive Naboo conspiracy and yes, I won't lie, it could be quite dangerous. I think that's sufficiently candid on my part."

"How magnanimous." Jessa sighed, looking between the three of them. "Why me?" she finally concluded. "Obviously you must have a reason, and I don't think it's just because I'm expendable as a non-citizen of Naboo. Why haven't you infiltrated these people already?"

Naberrie glanced at Kal who spoke for the first time. "Learning enough about them to even attempt an infiltration has been a long, arduous task," he said. "We've made passing efforts toward that end, yes, but mostly in the way of feelers that accomplished almost nothing. We hope that we will have surprise on our side when— if— we try it this way."

"It may not be evident to you," Naberrie added, "but our people are for the most part fiercely loyal to my family's dynasty. Opposition to Naberrie rule is very, very rare on this planet. At least publicly."

"Sounds to me like you don't like to be criticized," Jessa scathed mildly.

Naberrie reached for a stylus on his desk and began pushing it along the polished wooden surface with a nonchalant air, but he couldn't hide a brief flash of annoyance in his eyes at her words. "Captain Kal's hope is that they are more likely to accept an outsider as sympathetic to their cause. Your background, your history of socialist sympathies makes you the perfect believable candidate."

Jessa exhaled and leaned back in her chair as the pieces began to click into place at last. "I see," she said, crossing her arms and looking up at the king matter-of-factly. "So no false persona; you want me to infiltrate these people as myself."

"It would certainly save a lot of undue headache in the paperwork department."

"What about Larkin?"

"What about her?"

"If your terrorists have any decent kind of intelligence tap, they'll connect her to Ceidron and then to you. Wouldn't _that_ tip the scales in favor of suspicion?"

Naberrie exchanged glances with Kal, and the latter gave a small nod.

"Good point. Now you see the urgency of tabling this proposal before tomorrow's press release."

"So how would you address that little problem?" Jessa pressed.

He seemed to hesitate before replying. "We could take steps to bury or eradicate all of your personal records pertaining to Larkin. They wouldn't even know she existed, nor have reason to suspect."

Jessa blanched. "That sounds a bit shifty."

"Nevertheless, for the protection of you both, and for the viability of the mission, a necessary step. Now—" the king sat down at his desk, crossed his hands, leaned forward, and fixed her with a piercing stare. "I think I've given you enough on which to base your decision."

"Not quite," Jessa countered.

"Oh?"

"You haven't elaborated on your end of the bargain, should I decide to accept your offer."

"I believe I was very liberal."

"And very vague. What about Ceidron? Are you hoping that I'll take your royal line of livelihood and just disappear? Now that he knows about Larkin, he will insist upon being part of her life. You won't be rid of us. I hope you realize that."

Naberrie scowled. "I don't connive to keep families apart, Jessa."

"Well, you'll forgive me, Your _Majesty_, but I've seen so many short, quick, little glimpses of you that I have no idea what to believe."

"You know what?" he said brusquely. "You're right. Specifics are much tidier when it comes to largesse. I will pay you an annuity of five-hundred thousand Republic _dactares_ out of the Naberrie fortune to pursue any life you see fit, anywhere in the galaxy, even on Naboo. Additionally, I will contribute fifty-thousand _dactares_ toward a trust fund in Larkin Kennich's name, the overseeing of which will be charged to Lord Ceidron Metz. Both stipends will be paid until Larkin Kennich is of age, according to Commenor law, at which time our family's debt to you will have been considered paid."

Jessa did her best to mask the intake of breath at the staggering figure. He was right. They would never want for anything in their lives ever again. She could travel— she could study in universities offworld that hadn't closed their doors to her. Larkin could have the pick of superior education, and one not as biased as the Naboo brainwashing she was sure to receive here.

Ceidron had accused her of being too prideful of accepting a handout from the royal family. This was far, far more than a handout. It was a _life_. And then some. But then, Jessa reasoned, if Richard Naberrie was telling the truth, her life was exactly what he was asking her to put on the line for people she didn't even know or particularly care for.

At least he had a good regard for the value of things.

She met his eye with a hard stare. "Agreed. I'll do it."

He nodded slowly and stiffly. "Very good." He glanced at Captain Kal. "You'll meet with Captain Kal and his team tomorrow. We need to move quickly. My government has been crippled long enough as it is."

* * *

The suite where Claria and Ceidron had first relayed the news to Richard about Jessa served as their home away from home. Ceidron had stubbornly refused to move entirely from their home in the city, but most of Claria's social functions took place in the palace suite on Richard's orders. In some ways, she hated it there— it was closed, sparse, and impersonal. Today, however, she had to admit that the sparseness was an inadvertent blessing.

"Rainer, no!" Claria's longtime friend, Saché Drianna— now Saché Drianna Bakuro— darted across the room and snatched her son bodily away from a tall, viney potted _loppel_. She was then obliged to pry the end of one if its trailing tendrils from the clenched fingers of his small, fat fist.

Rainer Bakuro protested loudly to his mother, and Saché rolled her eyes slightly at Claria as she wheeled him around, out of the line of sight from this new, tempting target. "You sure you're in a rush to have one of these?" she asked Claria. She hauled Rainer over to the bag of toys she'd brought along, then blindly reached in and pulled one out for him.

Claria laughed. The toddler promptly forgot the forbidden loppel and shrieked in pleasure at the bright colors and patterns that swirled across the surface of the large, pocked ball. "Believe it or not, yes," she replied.

"Well, whenever the longing gets particularly acute, you're welcome to chase this one around for a few days. I'm sure it will take the edge off."

"If only I could," Claria said wistfully.

Saché brushed a couple of stray locks of hair out of her face. "He just _never stops_," she said, glancing at her son with impatient fondness. "And then he falls asleep and he's so precious that I forget the whole day and start over."

Claria smiled. Motherhood had changed Saché. Not for the worse, but some of her more fastidious tendencies had gone by the wayside. Gone were the pristine presentation, the spotless living spaces, the rigid schedule.

"You could always hire a nanny," Claria pointed out mildly. "You're rich enough."

"No." There was no room for argument in Saché's response. "I may have married into money, but I'm not using it as a means to avoid my own children."

"Children?" Claria raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly at the other woman. "I thought this one was enough."

Saché waved her off and pulled out another toy to occupy the insatiable Rainer. "So," she ventured when it seemed reasonable that they would get another three minutes of uninterrupted time, "this daughter of Ceidron's— why did Richard delay the public announcement?"

Claria shook her head. "We have no idea. All he'll say is that he's made some kind of agreement with Jessa that requires we forestall making the whole thing public." She sighed. "I'm really worried, and so is Ceidron. We haven't seen Jessa since her first night in the palace. Larkin cried the first two nights straight without her."

"Where is Larkin now?"

"With Ceidron. That's the only bright side. Larkin knows Ceidron is her father, and with Jessa gone, she's drawn a lot closer to him than she might have otherwise, or at least not this quickly."

"You don't think Richard convinced Jessa to leave permanently, do you?" Saché's eyes flicked toward her guiltily, cognizant of the awkwardness of the question.

Claria wished she could have widened her eyes in horror at Saché's suggestion, flown into an indignant range at the idea her brother could have done something so cowardly. "I don't know," Claria whispered quietly. She shook her head. "Sometimes I think I don't know him anymore." Saché reached over and squeezed her hand comfortingly.

The moment was broken by an insistent cry from Rainer, who was tugging the seal on the other compartment of Saché's bag. "Hungry?" Saché asked him. She reached over and released the seal with a gentle swipe of her thumb. "Fortunately, that only works with _my_ thumbprint," she advised Claria. Saché fished out a couple of teething biscuits for the baby. "And how do you like Larkin?" she asked gently when he was placated.

"I hardly know. She's polite but doesn't really respond to me. I try not to be...resentful."

"I know it's probably hard."

"How's Eirtaé?" Claria asked, eager to change the subject. "I haven't seen her since the wedding. That was what, a year ago now?" Eirtaé Bakuro, Saché's cousin by marriage had recently been married to Rory Daris, who was a former suitor of Sabé's. Knowing the rivalry that had once existed between the two girls, Claria had drawn quite a bit of amusement from this turn of events.

"Pregnant," Saché replied.

"Really?" Claria blurted. "By the Force!" She wrested her flare of jealousy deep, deep inside where Saché wouldn't be able to detect it.

"I know. They didn't waste any time." Saché glanced at Rainer. "Eirtaé, Padmé. You're married, Rabé is engaged. We are really all growing up, aren't we?"

"You were born grown up, Saché," Claria said with a laugh.

"So were you, according to Sabé." Saché's expression saddened. "Some of didn't get the chance."

Claria choked back a lump in her throat. Saché was referring to their fallen friends, who had died in the attempt on Padmé's life three years ago. Claria in particular mourned her dear friend Versé, without whom she wouldn't have ever played jazz or met Ceidron.

Brusquely, she got to her feet. "No more of this gloominess," she insisted. "Do you want some tea? Or some caf?"

Saché, who was hauling Rainer out of a holo curio, was unable to reply.

* * *

"This is quite a risk that you take, Your Majesty, if you'll permit me to be so bold."

Richard checked his reflection in the large glass mirror. The only thing that didn't meet with his satisfaction were the stress lines on his forehead. Even when he schooled his features to a regal apathy, he knew they were still there— lurking. He'd confessed his plan to Yvenne this morning. Her reaction had not been the assurance he'd daydreamed about.

He glanced to his right. Lady Nashira stood regarding him with her eternal serenity. "You agreed to help," he reminded her.

She nodded. "I meant no reproval, Majesty. You are not the first sovereign to send a soldier to his death, nor will you be the last."

"I don't know that he's going to his death," Richard said, more to himself than to anyone. After all, he'd been asserting as much since he'd first conceived this plan.

"Yet you must possess the resolve," she observed. Her face was pensive as she considered him. "I am no pacifist, Richard Naberrie. I admire your conviction."

"At least someone does," he muttered.

The door chime sounded.

"Enter."

He noted Commander Barris in the mirror's reflection. "Is everything ready?" he asked, cutting off any potential formalities.

"It is, my Lord."

Richard straightened his jacket one more time and turned to Lady Nashira. "Shall we?" He held out an arm, which she accepted with no reply.

Richard's entourage walked silently through the corridors toward the hangar, where a heavily-armored speeder was waiting to escort the king to the official blessing and dedication of the Gungan embassy in Theed. The magnificent structure, a harmonious, artful marriage of land and water, was finally complete. Construction had begun shortly after the Battle of Naboo, and would have been finished much sooner, but the war had brought a serious halt to its progress.

The Gungans had assured Richard that his absence would not offend them, given the delicate security situation, but now that he knew his own people were working against him, he was through being cautious. Publicly, anyway. He needed to draw them out, make them reveal a little more of their hand. He could only hope that the idea of him missing such an important diplomatic event would be significant enough that his enemies wouldn't find his newfound boldness in any way suspicious.

"I am curious, Majesty," Lady Nashira said, breaking the laden silence, "if your strategy proves fruitless, if appearances are all that are achieved today, is your young man capable of dispelling any suspicion?"

"You mean will his comportment betray us?"

"Just so."

"He's been in my retinue for many years. He knows my mannerisms and his education is sufficient."

"And should the Gungans discover him and press you on the matter?"

"Then they shall have the truth," he said. "Enough of it, anyway."

When they arrived at the waiting area adjacent to the hangar, a young, nervous-looking man got to his feet. "Sire," he said, bowing deeply.

"Sifko." Richard reached out to clasp the young man's arm. He was about the height, build, and coloring of Richard, and he was dressed in an exact replica of the formal state costume Richard was wearing.

Richard gestured to Nashira. "Corporal, this is Lady Nashira of the Fallanassi, a long-honored guest in our court. As you know, she'll be using her skills to make this charade of ours all the more believable."

"My lady."

"Your Majesty, we're running short on time."

"Of course, Barris. Lady Nashira?"

Nashira relinquished her hold on Richard's arm and approached Corporal Sifko with a focused expression. He gave a nervous lick of his lips. She gave him a reassuring smile and reached up, cupping her hands on either side of his face. "There is no pain," she assured him. "Let us begin."

* * *

From amongst a milling crowd eager to see their long-reclusive king, Jessa Kennich swallowed hard. For some reason, now that she was here, she was afraid. Afraid for Larkin, afraid for herself, afraid that she was in over her head.

The last three days had been exhausting. She hadn't had contact with a single person she cared about, but instead had been treated to an intensive regimen of intelligence facts, briefings, and tutorials. She now know all there was to know about the Naboo's recent exposure to domestic terrorism, from the unsolved mystery of Queen Leiandra's murder to the explosion that had stranded her and Larkin in the spaceport such a short while ago. She also had technical knowledge drilled into her head— useful skills and techniques for espionage. She only hoped she could remember it all, should the need arise. There was no assurance this project was even going to work.

Theed was out in style today, in celebration of the Naboo-Gungan alliance. There atmosphere was festive, which did assure Jessa of one thing— whatever else happened, she would be getting some attention.

Her fingers were clenching a folded sign— simple cardstock with angry words in bold colors. A trifle archaic, perhaps, but effective, and more importantly—inexpensive. At the foot of a giant statue outside the university, various student groups were protesting their causes. The one closest to the king's subscribed route was earning the most scrutiny from security forces. They were the loudest, and the most angry. Jessa could only hope they would keep their actions legal. There would be no small amount of irony if her efforts resulted in being arrested again. The security forces had no idea of Jessa or her mission, or if they did, she hadn't been informed.

She took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd.

_"Don't buy the lie! Let the dynasty die! Don't buy the lie! Let the dynasty die!"_

Seven or eight of the students were shouting in chorus as Jessa approached. She surged toward them.

A grip on her elbow pulled her back. "I'd stay away from that lot, miss," a well-meaning guard advised. "They're prone to spitting and the like."

Jessa jerked her arm away and favored him with a glare. "As well they should," she snapped angrily. "How else is anybody actually going to wake up and pay attention?" She flipped her sign open for his benefit. '_Naberries for Exile!_' was splayed brashly across it.

The guard set his lips and released her with a disgusted expression.

A girl among the chanting protestors had spotted the exchange. She caught Jessa's eye and beckoned her over. Jessa hurried to the group and began waving her sign in time with the ditty. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.

She spent the heart of the next two hours protesting. Her feet were already sore and her voice was already hoarse by the time King Richard's motorcade was due to pass by. In between random bouts of chanting and shouting their agenda at hapless passersby— and enduring the occasional expletive or rotten vegetable in reply— Jessa had the opportunity to meet and be met by her fellow activists. She stuck with extreme care to the story painstakingly constructed through the joint effort of herself and the Royal Intelligence team. It was part fiction and a whole lot of fact.

Jessa had to admit that Richard Naberrie had, if nothing else, very keen instincts. In other circumstances, Jessa may have been here of her own accord. She genuinely believed everything she was shouting, just as Ceidron had, once upon a time. The fact that the protestors were, for the most part, native to Naboo only augmented Jessa's sympathy for their grievances— all the more for having an actual acquaintance with the king. Knowing her real objective for being among them made her stomach twist with gnawing guilt.

She forced herself to remember that she was not spying against democracy, but against terrorism. Jessa had never been a proponent of violence, not after she'd gotten a small enough taste of it on Commenor to recognize the horror, the brutality, and futility of it all. Any of her new friends who agreed were _not_ her enemies, and she would not betray them. Neither was she betraying herself. But this rationale did not entirely ease the discomfort she felt with each new handshake, each new, fierce, welcoming smile.

The leaders of the group, a man named Bandism and a woman named Tyré— the same woman who had first beckoned to Jessa— clearly kept up the energy and passion for all the rest of the group. They were the ones who questioned Jessa most closely. It was Bandism who approached them when the motorcade's arrival was imminent.

"Let's start getting closer," he urged. "Closer to the road. I want some of our people visible from the speeders. Maybe we'll make the media broadcasts, even offworld."

The group began shoving their way bit by bit through the crowd toward the edge of the road. Jessa was sure to stay near the center. Sure enough, some of the people already occupying the premium parade ground real estate that Bandism coveted took issue with the protestors' arrival. By the time the scuffles were sorted out, three or four members of the group were being escorted away by security.

Jessa was surprised it was not more until she took a close look at one of the guards and recognized a plain clothes agent who had trained her on basic self defense only yesterday. He caught her eye for the briefest of moments and then scowled hard. "I'm letting the rest of you off on a warning,' he said to those of the group closest to her." It was then that she realized, abruptly, that if it hadn't been for her, the protestors probably wouldn't have been allowed to gather at all. Now, they found themselves miraculously positioned along the way where the king himself would be passing by to witness their complaint. Jessa's toes were mere microns from the energy barrier that divided the plaza from the road. She hoped no one jostled her into it. It wouldn't kill or even injure her, but it wouldn't be pleasant.

There was a loud, excited roar from the crowd ahead of them, and Jessa craned her neck along with everyone else, straining to get a glimpse of the king's speeder. As soon as the first vehicle was in sight, Bandism and Tyré were urging the protestors into action. Jessa held her sign high.

_"Naboo, yes! Naberrie, no! Naboo, yes! Naberrie, no! Naboo—"_

Jessa shouted and stomped and flailed with the best of them. She followed Richard's speeder, hooded and undoubtedly shielded, pass by and followed its progress beyond her. He had been alone, except for his driver. In the car behind him were some other Naboo dignitaries, and a tall woman wearing alien robes whom Jessa did not recognize from her limited familiarity with the Naboo court.

Bandism gestured wildly that they should keep going, even though nobody's attention was on them anymore.

_"Naboo, yes! Naberrie, no!"_

Jessa was just considering whether or not anyone would notice if she just mouthed the words when a deafening sound eclipsed the roar of the crowd and any other sound. Jessa felt herself scream and ducked to a squat, pulling her hands and the sign still clutched in them up over her head.

A moment later, some of her hearing returned, and it was full of the outcry of shock and fear all around her. She stood shakily to her feet, and had just barely managed to do that much when someone seized her roughly by the shoulders, dragging her out into the street. It took Jessa a moment to realize that the energy barrier had somehow been deactivated.

The person seizing her was Tyré. She pulled Jessa's face close to hers. "Run," she urged. "We didn't do this, but they'll round us up for questioning anyway. Met me at the Royal Pistol tomorrow around this time." Without even waiting for Jessa's confirmation, Tyré dropped her hands and rushed off into the crowd.

Still reeling, both physically and mentally, Jessa needed another moment before she could follow the other woman's advice. Then she hurried off, heedless of the direction, wondering if the king was alive and if not, what she was supposed to do now.

* * *

Sabé was eating a quiet meal with Padmé and Anakin when Dormé came running into the room, ashen-faced, with the barest regard for decorum.

"What is it, Dormé?" Padmé asked, her concern evident at the expression on the handmaiden's face.

"My lady," Dormé said, trembling. "The king— he's been killed."

* * *

**A/N**: Seven and a half months later, here we are! Less time than a pregnancy, at least.

Okay, as promised, now that the school hurdle is over, I'm picking up this fic again. The even better news is that last week I pushed through a _huge_ block in plot logistics, which means that I don't anticipate getting any more serious writers block from here on out. As soon as I had this chapter written I decided to post it, since you guys, my awesome readers, have been waiting so patiently and faithfully for an update. Now that I'm working with a tolerable level of momentum, however, I'm going to resume my old faithful standby of write two, post one, write two, post one until the fic is finished, at which point I'll post my "bank" of chapters at any ol' pace my heart desires.

Ben and Sabé in the next chapter!


	6. Dejarik

**Chapter Six - **_**Dejarik**_

Obi-Wan had spent his days since Chancellor Palpatine's rescue restless and uneasy. His thoughts were full of warring concerns and distractions— the stress of the war, Anakin's increasingly mysterious behavior, and his reunion with Sabé. Now, more than ever, the temptation to disappear inside their love was deathly acute. If not for the war...

But even that excuse was wearing thin. With every passing hour the war felt more and more like a fruitless exercise, a veneer for something more sinister. Obi-Wan spent long hours in deep meditation, tuning himself to the Force, straining to catch a glimpse of that dark, elusive _something_ just out of his reach.

He heard the news that the king of the Naboo had been killed in a speeder bombing the same hour he received his orders from the Jedi Council. General Greivous had been spotted on Utapau. He was to depart within the day.

As soon as he could, he got a message to Sabé.

This time, he did not meet her at Dex's. The botanical enclave of Bimmissari was a favorite refuge of many of the Jedi, with endless squire kilometers of indoor gardens. Though he sensed her almost as soon as he arrived, it too him almost a full half hour of walking to find her.

She sat in a quiet, shadowed gondola, wearing a pale, sea green gown that clung delicately from her shoulders. Her hair hung loose in long, rich chestnut curls and he swallowed, feeling the old familiar ache of separation already rising inside. Her profile was troubled, not distraught, which surprised him a little.

He cleared his throat and she turned her head, a serene smile brightening her expression considerably. He hastened to her and embraced her.

"Are you sure we won't be seen here?"

"Reasonably. At this late hour, what small risk there is does not concern me. Sabé, I am sorry about your brother."

Her expression darkened again and she pulled away. "Do not grieve for Richard. He isn't dead."

"He isn't?"

Sabé sighed and went over to her bench again, where Obi-Wan joined her. "He sent an encrypted message to us only a few moments after the attack. It was embedded in the official communiqué about the attack itself. Not easy to find for most, but Dormé and I would recognize Yané's techniques anywhere if she wanted us to."

"What did it say?"

"That he expected this might happen. He wanted to test our intelligence on this terrorist organization that has been plaguing our family, and to encounter them on more even terms."

"So he used a body double."

Sabé nodded. She stood to her feet, agitated. "I want so badly to be angry with him. He knowingly sent a man to his possible death. But how can I be angry for that when Cordé and Versé died under nearly-identical circumstances three years ago? I bear no ill will against Padmé for that."

"Padmé's measures were a precaution," Obi-Wan said. "Richard's were a provocation. I am very sorry for it."

Sabé nodded. "That is the difference."

"What will he do now?"

"He will wait. He said that he does have plans in motion, but no more than that. I hope for the soldier's sake that those plans are successful."

She fell silent. Obi-Wan looked over at a violently orange _roojah_ and regretted what he needed to say.

"You're leaving again," she said quietly. He turned to her in surprise.

She laughed softly, despite her sadness, and sat down beside him again. "There are more forms of perception than just the Force, Ben Kenobi. There is a war. You are a general. You weren't even supposed to be here right now." She reached up and touched his beard lightly. "Also, you have a terrible sabaac face."

"I know there was a reason I didn't care for that game."

"In that case I have a few Correllian friends I'll be sure not to introduce you to."

Obi-Wan's chuckle was fleeting. "They're sending me to Utapau. We have a lead on the location of Grievous."

"A good one, this time, I hope. Perhaps you and Anakin will be back sooner than you think."

"Anakin isn't coming."

Now it was Sabé's turn to be surprised. "I would have thought the Council would want him for such a crucial mission. He is their shining star, after all."

"More like a hurtling comet. His friendship with the Chancellor and his new duties will keep him here."

"And you don't care for that."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at her.

She shrugged. "I don't care for Palpatine either."

"He's very slippery. That much is certain. But I have no bearing on Anakin's choices anymore. I sometimes feel that I never did."

"I think you have, more than you know." She heaved a weary sigh and cast her gaze about, briefly looking for any unwanted company. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"I've half a mind to ask you to stay."

"You know I can't. If there's a chance this can end the war—"

"No. I didn't mean stay on Coruscant. I meant stay... wherever it is I might choose to stay tonight." She blushed slightly, looking down at her hands, which were fidgeting

"Ah." A foreign warmth— and not just a physical one— filled him at this implication "And what does the other half of your mind tell you?"

"That you and I each have a tradition to which we adhere and cherish."

"We would hardly be the first ones guilty of such an infraction," he said, amused. "Even within the confines of those traditions."

She smiled at him sadly. "But you are a true believer. I would not, in this dark time and place, rob the Jedi of such conviction."

He took her hand and kissed it. "I am honored," he said.

"I love you, Ben. Try not to die. And don't—" she added, holding up a finger to his lips, "—quote Master Yoda."

He smiled against her finger, and grasped her hand again. "In that case, I will not _try_ to do this, either." He lowered her hand and claimed her mouth with his.

For a few hours— a few, fleeting moments— he would be happy.

* * *

The Royal Pistol was restaurant and lounge in the academic sector of Theed. Jessa was not surprised to find it so near the university, but she was a little surprised at how upscale the place seemed to be. Her prior experience with insurgents had not included warm lighting, pleasant music, and pristine countertops. She felt grossly underdressed— actually she felt plain _gross_, standing in dusty work boots on the richly-carpeted floor, and she wondered if scouting the place first and returning with more suitable attire would have been advised. But, she reflected, there really hadn't been any time, and anyway, she was supposed to be Jessa Kennich, right off the boat and rough around the edges. Tyré hadn't seemed to consider her clothing of any importance yesterday.

Nervously, Jessa shuffled around and tried not to fixate on her reflection in the large mirrors that surrounded the restaurant's foyer. It was quiet, being only midday. More than that, the aftereffects of a public terrorist attack had kept most people indoors today. Business in Theed had come almost to a standstill. The planet was in mourning for its beloved king.

Jessa was not in mourning. She wasn't sure she would have been anyway, but last evening when she'd finally gotten back to her cheap, staged accommodations, she'd received an encrypted, hand-delivered message that King Richard was not dead, and that how long he kept that fact hidden depended largely on her mission.

"So, no pressure," she muttered under her breath, still looking around.

Finally, the bartender came out from the back carrying a dusty bottle that he was wiping off with a cloth. He gave a start when he noticed Jessa standing there. "Good morning," he said cautiously, taking in her appearance. "May I help you?"

"I'm meeting someone. I'm not sure when she'll get here."

"All right." He finished dusting the bottle and placed it among some others in the bar. "Would you like to order something?"

"Do you have anything less than three creds?"

"No."

"Then I'll just wait, thanks."

The silence continued, awkward and a little bit dusty, until Jessa began to wonder if there was more than one Royal Pistol, or if she'd heard Tyré incorrectly the previous evening, or if she was simply being had. She was beginning to contemplate leaving and watching the restaurant from a safer distance, when finally, Tyré showed up.

Tyré matched the restaurant. In cool, sophisticated clothing— appropriately somber for the time of crisis— she looked very different than Jessa remembered her looking yesterday. Jess wondered if she was a student or a socialite.

"You came!" Tyré looked genuinely pleased to see her. "Jessa, isn't it? We have so much to talk about. Olaj, a bottle of the namana nectar, please. We'll be in the back." She didn't wait to see if the bartender would comply, but took Jessa firmly by the arm and guided her back into the depths of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Tyré said, as they took their places in opposite seats of a circular booth. "With the assassination yesterday, there's been so much going on. A lot of details to see to in my work and other various organizations. Social duties. You can imagine."

Jessa said nothing.

Tyré kept up a stream of senseless chatter until the bartender brought the drink she'd ordered and two small tumblers, and had walked far away again. After that, she didn't waste any time. "So," she began. "You said yesterday that you were involved in the anti-oligarchy movement on Commennor."

"With differing degrees of success, yes."

"What brings you to Naboo? Why were you at the rally yesterday?"

"I came to Naboo to track down an old lover. We used to set the world on fire together. When I got here, I found him up to his ears in cozy hypocrisy. I think I was just mad, so I wanted to scream at something."

"Who's your friend?" Tyré asked, pouring the golden-colored liquor into the two tumblers. She passed one to Jessa.

Jessa snorted and picked it up, swirling it around speculatively. "Metz. Ceidron Metz. I'm guessing you've heard of him."

Tyré gave no reaction. Jessa glanced over at her. The other woman was smiling at her in approval.

According to Richard Naberrie, erasing Larkin from Jessa's past had been considerably less difficult than erasing Ceidron, mostly because Jessa's life had been a lot... louder back when Ceidron had been in it. Their strategy, in the end, then, had been not to try and avoid Ceidron but to use him if they could. Her hope was that whoever she was dealing with would be put at ease by her open acknowledgement of her connection to the royal family. She was going to take Tyré's smirk as an affirmation that the gambit had paid off. Clearly, Tyré was not in the least surprised about what Jessa had just told her.

"Can I ask why I'm here?" she said, lowering her glass again without tasting it.

"Why did you come?"

Jessa shrugged. "Curiosity. I wanted to see what the rough underbelly of Naboo iconoclasm looked like." She gave a pointed look around. "I'm so glad I got to suffer through it. I've got to get back to Commenor, though. Thank you for inviting me." She nudged the glass back toward Tyré and began to scuttle out of the booth.

Tyré reached out and grabbed her sleeve. "Principles can be expensive," she said coolly, staring at the table. Then her eyes flicked dangerously up at Jessa. "What you saw yesterday was nothing. Gnats on a tusk-cat."

Warily, Jessa relaxed back into her seat. "You seem awfully dismissive of your friends."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. Their hearts are in the right place. They just don't have the means to really do anything."

"Then why were you with them?"

"Because it's my job to watch for potential. Like you." She leaned forward. "I won't lie. I've spent the better part of the evening using every resource at my disposal to learn about you, Jessa Kennich. And you are potential."

Jessa leaned forward. "Potential for what? And whom?"

"I represent an organization whose aim is a more politically equitable Naboo. Let's just leave it at that for now. We are finally beginning to make serious strides in changing the climate around here, but it would be easier if we could sway the general populace from their blind naivety. You have experience with that kind of thing. How strong are your principles, Jessa Kennich? Will you help us?"

"How much does it pay?"

Tyré frowned. "You sound like a mercenary."

"No, just a pragmatist. I like revolution as much as the next girl, but I don't have any family or friends here. I need a roof over my head and food on the table, don't I?"

"We'll see to it that you have friends."

Still, Jessa hesitated. She did not want to seem to eager.

Tyré leaned in again, intent. "I know you don't have anything left to go back to except some unpaid bills and a moldy flat. What have you got to lose?"

"Is there a chance I could get arrested? I've already done that once this trip."

"Yes."

"Well, at least you're honest." Jessa picked up her glass. "Fine," she said, tilting it meaningfully. "Insurgence it is."

* * *

Cloistered safely away in the secure underground bunker of Theed palace, Richard Naberrie kept close tabs on the stream of public news and private intelligence that poured in from the aftermath of the assassination attempt.

There were very few people who knew that Richard had not really been in that speeder. His intelligence team, his family, a handful of highly-trusted servants, and of course, Lady Nashira. The past two days, forced to spend down in the bowels of the palace this way, had been maddening.

The door opened, and Richard eagerly sprang to his feet. "Barris, Kal," he said, greeting the two men who entered together and bowed respectfully. "Any word?"

"We have received no word from Jessa since she told of her meeting this morning."

"Anything on the woman she's meeting with?"

"Using the security footage from the protest, we've identified her as Acsah Numan. Her family hails from the Oxon region. They're quite wealthy."

"She gave Jessa a pseudonym."

"Based on her appearance and conduct at the rally, she doesn't advertise that she comes from money."

"Or she's trying to hide something else."

At this point, Barris gave a subtle cough into his fist. "What is it?" Richard asked.

"Your Majesty, the queen has arrived." He stepped aside.

Yvenne took this as her cue to enter the room. "Yvenne," Richard said, dumbly.

She looked exhausted. "Hello, Richard."

"I—"

"What? You weren't expecting to see me? Don't you think it would be a little bit suspicious if the queen didn't return to Theed upon news of her husband's death?" She sat down heavily in the nearest chair and closed her eyes.

"Padmé is staying on Coruscant on the pretense of the security threat. I figured—"

"I wanted to be home, Richard."

He pressed his lips together, frustrated. Anything could have happened on that journey.

"You aren't happy to see me?"

"Of course," he said automatically. "And Sioned?"

"She's here too." Yvenne looked at Kal and Barris. "Leave us, please."

Both men glanced at Richard before nodding their respect and quietly leaving the room.

"What happened?" she asked quietly when they were alone. "How did you know to take precaution?"

"It was a gamble, based on some scanty intelligence reports and logical speculation."

"How many people are dead?"

"Four."

Yvenne gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Richard."

He rubbed his hands together and took a few uneasy steps away from the door, wishing there was as window to look out. "It may not be for nothing. I have— plans. If we're lucky, we can put this business behind us for good."

"Are you going to tell me about them?"

"I'm sorry, I can't. The fewer who know, the better."

She struggled to get to her feet, and he walked over to help her up. "I hope this baby is born soon," she said. Then, to his surprise, she embraced him.

It was awkward, with the bulge of the baby between them, and Richard tried not to let his surprise show. "I miss you," Yvenne said softly.

He frowned and pulled away slightly to look her in the face, his hands on her shoulders. "I'm right here," he said.

"No, you're not, Richard. You haven't been for a long time."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, as if gathering patience. Then she opened them again. "I hope your plans bear fruit, Richard. I too would like to put all of this behind us."

"Yvenne—"

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have fake funeral services to plan."

She leaned up and gave him a perfunctory kiss. Then, with one hand on her belly, she turned and left the room.

Richard stared after her in confusion, feeling hurt, though he couldn't understand why.

He was prevented from any further musings on the matter by Agent Kal rushing in. "Your Majesty, I have an update. Jessa is on the move."

* * *

Whoever Tyré worked for, they weren't quite so reckless as to utterly trust Jessa on her very first day. She was searched, blindfolded, tested for midichlorians, and taken for a long speeder ride that eventually went either underground or into the hills, judging by the sudden eclipse of daylight. She asked no questions and tried to remain calm, reflecting conversation she'd had three nights ago with a rather peculiar young woman named Yané.

Yané was a member of Agent Kal's intelligence team, and the head of logistics for the king's security. She was the least likely person Jessa would have imagined for such a role, an unpredictable combination of flightly and introvert.

In the training facility where King Richard's people had pounded and prepped her, Yané had presented Jessa with a small, slightly chilled box. Jessa opened it curiously, and then recoiled at the rancid smell wafting up from inside. The box was full of pasty-looking grub-like creatures.

"We've been saving these for just the right opportunity."

"Dare I ask what for?"

"They're a new species of snail recently catalogued on Jenwa. They give off a unique kind of radiation. Oh, don't worry— it's perfectly safe, perfectly subtle. Just ingest half of one each evening from now on, and if you get taken to a safe house or something, we'll be able to track you."

"I'm sorry— did you just say _ingest_?"

There was slightly more to the chemical and biological workings of the 'tracker slugs' than Yané's explanation had been able to provide, but all Jessa needed to know was that they would give her a chance of getting this mission finished more quickly. Then she could take Larkin, take the money, and go somewhere else. Somewhere new. Far away from Naboo and Commenor. If Ceidron didn't like it, well, she'd figure out what to do about that later.

After what seemed a little over an hour, the speeder began making more frequent turns and the people around Jessa began fidgeting more. She perked up slightly, assuming that they must be nearing their destination. Sure enough, about five minutes after that, the vehicle came to a smooth, precise stop.

"Finally," Tyré muttered. Jessa felt the other woman's weight shift, and a moment later, the hiss of the hatch release and a surprising breath of fresh air. "Take off her blindfold," Tyré instructed. Her weight shifted even further away, and then was gone altogether. Jessa blinked at the sunlight coming from outside the speeder, and scrambled out after Tyré, not bothering to look and see who had been on her other side.

The speeder was parked in a hangar of some kind. It was constructed mostly of painted steel and smooth duracrete, but there was a retractable portion of the roof that was letting in the sunlight. Tyré was already walking toward a ship of a sort that Jessa had never before seen. She wondered if Tyré and her companions would consider it suspicious if she asked about it. Maybe they would consider it more suspicious if she didn't.

She settled for natural curiosity. "I've never seen that model of ship before," she commented, memorizing as quickly as possible the basics of the vessel's design.

Tyré looked up at it apathetically. "It must not be common on Commenor," she said.

Jessa was impressed. There were a lot of things that were uncommon on Commenor. She had a sneaking suspicion that this vehicle wasn't common on Naboo either. "It's hyperspace capable," Tyré added.

Jessa raised her eyebrows, and the other woman laughed. "Oh, don't worry. We're not going that far. Please, get on board." Hoping that Yané's slugs could transmit radiation across a star system, Jessa followed her up the gangplank.

She was escorted to the passenger bay and left to sit quietly, alone. There were no viewports, so when the ship took off she had no way of knowing where they might be headed.

* * *

"Looks like they're headed for Keren," Yané said, following the blip on her sensor map religiously with her eyes.

Joppa and Desmé were leaning over her shoulders, equally transfixed. "So they take her on a merry speeder ride all through the capital and the countryside, and now they're leaving the region," Joppo summarized. He straightened and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "How very thorough."

"Where was it they took off from?" asked Desmé.

"A private hangar on Lord Veruna's estate."

"Veruna," she repeated. "Interesting. Was he on the list?" She turned to Joppa, questioning.

Joppa gave a cautious nod.

For the first time in a long time, Desmé smiled. "Maybe," she said, "_maybe_ this is going to work."

"Let's hope so," Joppa said. "For the king's sake."

"And for Jessa's," Yané added quietly.

"I'll go inform his Majesty of the update."

Desmé stepped around Yané's chair and pulled out the one beside it. "Keren, Keren," she said, slumping in the seat and resuming the intense blip that was Jessa's presence aboard some ship. "What are they hiding in Keren?"

* * *

This time they traveled for almost three hours. When Jessa wasn't dozing, she was thinking about her daughter.

"I didn't sense that we broke atmosphere," she said when the ship finally landed and Tyré once again came to retrieve her. "I assume we're still on Naboo?"

"Yes. And now I'm going to have to blindfold you again. I'm sorry."

Jessa sighed. "Certainly."

Another hangar, another speeder. Another blind ride. This time, when they disembarked for what Jessa hoped would be the last time, they were in a low, cool garage, clearly underground.

Jessa followed Tyré. They were joined by their pilot, an expressionless man with dangerous eyes. Waiting for them at the private door inside the garage was a tall, beautiful young woman with dark hair. Tyré frowned when she saw her. "Why are you still here, Re—" she cut off before finishing the woman's name, glancing sideling at Jessa. "Aren't you supposed to be attending the king's funeral?"

"I'll be leaving within the hour," the woman said coolly. She favored Jessa with a dismissive glance. "Why did you bring her here? With Richard dead, we have other things to be moving forward with. I hardly think standard recruitment is a priority."

"I suppose that would be why our superiors are in charge and not you. The king's death opens a slew of opportunities, but you know another Naberrie is just going to step in and take his place. And she's still connected to the royal family."

"So am I," the pretty woman huffed.

"A lot of good that's done us. Can you move over, please? We've got a meeting."

Jessa took careful note of the mystery woman's features. If she was close to the royal family then maybe she could help identify her when she got back to Theed.

Tyré and the dangerous speeder pilot led her through a long tunnel and then into an underground residence of some kind, sparsely but richly furnished. "You'll be meeting with one of our cell leaders," Tyré explained once they got out of the echoing corridor. "He'll decide if he feels your potential contributions are worth further investment."

Jessa decided not to ask what might happen to her if she didn't pass muster. Her stomach clenched tightly. "All right."

"And since I have some other meetings to conduct, you'll be staying the night here. We'll take you back to Theed in the morning."

"All right."

"Here we are," said Tyré, stopping at a doorway and waving her hand over the entry console. "Good luck."

Jessa swallowed and stepped inside.

* * *

"Is that Lord Veruna's property as well?"

Captain Barris had now joined the observation party. He was staring fixedly at the "Jessa" dot, which had not moved in some time.

"It is. He was throwing a birthday celebration for his youngest granddaughter's coming out, but the festivities have been canceled due to the assassination. Most of those in attendance have been making their way to Theed for the funeral."

"And yet here's one transport vessel taking a would-be dissident in the opposite direction," Barris observed.

"Definitely grabs the attention," Joppa agreed.

"Is Lord Veruna there now?"

"No, sir. We confirmed that he arrived back in Theed this morning."

"What about you, Desmé? What have you got?"

"Well, like we told you, he definitely qualifies among those nobility who supervised the reconstruction of the palace after the siege. But apart from that, I can't find anything that jumps out at me. The income from his manufacturing operations has grown, but that's due to the war. What he doesn't spend on business he puts to his personal accounts, to reinvestment, or gives to charity. He gives a lot of money to charity."

"Start investigating his beneficiaries."

"Yes, sir."

"And Desmé?"

"Yes?"

"Cross-reference them with charitable giving from others on the palace reconstruction list."

"Yes, sir."

"Were we able to trace the ship that took Jessa to Keren?" Now the Captain turned to Yané.

"I've narrowed it down, but since it was a private flight and since they didn't break atmosphere, they weren't required to log the flight with any public agencies. I can put out requests to the private firms, but I'm afraid that might raise some flags if someone's looking over their shoulder."

The captain stood staring at the monitors for a long moment. Finally, "See if you can pull the data directly. Slice into their databases."

Yané nodded at him, eyes wide. "Yes, sir."

After another hesitant moment he added, "While you're at it, see if you can slice into Veruna's security. I want to know what's going on in there."

* * *

The man asked Jessa what felt like a thousand questions about her past. It was exhausting to stick to her story. She'd lost a semester of school due to a criminal investigation and a difficult pregnancy that had miscarried late in her term. She had not been able to reapply to the program. She had organized rallies, led protests, and smuggled weapons. Everything was true. Jessa just left out the fact that when it had come time to use those weapons she had thrown up worse than she had when she'd first been carrying Larkin.

How much did she hate the farce of democracy?

Enough to break the law. Enough to endanger her life.

What would she be willing to do for Naboo, that wasn't even her own planet?

Whatever they asked her to do. The planet was a desperate wasteland of blind, conforming minds.

What was in it for her?

A fresh start. Protection from the authorities on her homeworld. Gratification of her ideals.

She made sure to "preach" with the light of blind fervor in her eyes. Idealists were insane, after all. But their insanity was very useful to the kind of people that were testing her out. That much was easy to deduce.

"Kennich," the man finally said, leaning forward and crossing his hands on the tabletop in satisfaction. "I believe that Tyré was right. I believe we have use for you."

Jessa let out a breath that was equal parts satisfaction and relief. "Excellent. Thank you."

"Tomorrow we'll take you back to Theed. You'll still be making the trip anonymously. For your own protection, you understand."

"Of course."

"Once you're back in Theed, you'll go home for a few days and Tyré will contact you again and escort you to your safe house. Given your special circumstances, we'll see to setting up some lodging for you."

"I could just live at the safe house," she said. "I was planning on trying to find a job before, but I've got no other reason to be here now."

"A generous offer, but you would do well to maintain a pretense of an ordinary life here on Naboo. In fact, finding part time work isn't such a bad idea, but we can take care of that too. For now, I have work of my own to finish tonight, so I'll see that you're escorted to some quarters for the evening and I hope you'll rest comfortably here."

They stood to their feet. "Do you have any questions? Most of them I probably can't answer, but you never know."

"What do you call yourselves?"

He smiled. "After you've proven yourself, then we can tell you that."

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah... let's not talk about how long since I've updated. I hope you enjoyed the post! I have a few more in the buffer, so the story's not dead. Still resolved to finish it. It will happen slowly, that's all. :-)


	7. Klions

**Warning - mild profanity in this chapter.**

**

* * *

Chapter Seven - **_**Klions**_

"There she is. Can you get audio?"

"Working on it."

Yané wasn't going to tell anyone, but she was nervous. The last time she'd seen firewalls this tight had been when she had been helping Claria and Ceidron to investigate a suspicious financial trail within Bakurcom. The lot of them had nearly been hunted down by unsavory types that night, and the systems she was playing around in now had all the same fingerprints. Whoever was running security for these terrorists was either the same person or had gone to the same school of sneakiness.

"Just a sec..." Yané said aloud, knowing that the others were breathless with the ignorant impatience of non-slicers. "There."

_"What do you call yourselves?"_ Jessa asked to the other man in the room. Yané had only found the room Jessa was sitting in a few minutes ago, and now, judging by the way she and her companion were standing, they would be moving on.

"Just in time for the million credit question," said Joppa, leaning forward to watch the feed eagerly.

_"After you've proven yourself, then we can tell you that."_

"What tedious caution," remarked Captain Barris dryly.

"Captain," said Desmé, "I think I've got something."

"Stay on her, if you can," he instructed Yané, who nodded. He turned to Desmé. "What is it?"

"I did what you suggested— five of these non-profit organizations appear consistently in the cross-reference. Keren Peace Organizaition, Landmark Preservations, Ithrin Charities, Oxon United, and New Naboo Outreach."

"And what else?"

"Well, they all have Naboo names and Naboo-centric mission statements, but if you look past the surface, most of their outlays go offworld. And from there, who knows."

"The hiring of offworld assassins, perhaps?"

"That's a leap, sir, but anything of the kind and you'd lose the trail very quickly."

"That's what I thought. Still, let's see how far we can take it. I want something that we can arrest someone for and get warrants."

* * *

In the early morning hours, Richard was awoken by Captain Barris and Agent Kal.

"I take it there's news?" he asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Yvenne was not with him in the security bunker, instead choosing to sleep in their regular quarters. It made sense, really. If the queen was known to be in residence, it might raise curiosity if she spent the night away from her own bed, but somehow the fact of it felt like a blow against him. She felt so far away.

Barris turned on a light above the table in the bunker's all-purpose living area. "We've been up almost all night. It will be dawn in three hours, but in Keren that won't be for another six."

"Why should it matter what time the sun rises in Keren?"

"That all depends on you, sire." From his pocket, Barris pulled a datachip and inserted into the reader. "Earlier this year," he said, "a non-profit organization called New Naboo Outreach made a three-million credit outpay to a contractor on Coruscant called Forvian Industries. Purportedly, the money was to be used to draft plans for a new museum in Keren commemorating that region's part in the siege and the Battle of Naboo."

"I don't know anything about a museum."

"It would have been something to come across the Keren governer's desk, sire, not yours."

"Of course. So why are you telling me about it now?"

"Because Forvian Industries is as much a shell of a company as New Naboo Outreach."

"Indeed? And how does Forvian Industries truly conduct its business?"

"By whatever means Black Sun demands."

Richard straightened. "Barris are you telling me that you can link Naboo citizens to Black Sun?"

"I have nothing that would illicit a conviction. Yet."

"But you have enough to sieze records."

Barris hesitated. "Or people." He looked at his watch. "Governer Veruna is resting comfortably at his private residence here in Theed in anticipation of tomorrow's funeral. Jessa is still on his estate in Keren, but we know at least two others involved in this organization by their faces. In the case of Acsah Numan, her true identity."

Richard got up from his chair and paced across the small room. "You think there's a chance we can crack this nut open tonight. That's an awfully big gamble, Barris."

"It is, sire. I have faith in my team. Now that I know where to point them, I believe we can finally solve the mysteries of the past. But this organization— whatever they call themselves— have done an extremely good job up until now covering their tracks. I won't deny that there is a risk we may just embarrass ourselves."

"Let's consider for a moment that we agree to proceed. What exactly would happen?"

"We would arrest the Governer and all the others who made contributions to New Naboo Outreach on charges of criminal collusion. We would raid all of their residences and freeze all of their assets and accounts here on Naboo. I can't do anything about offworld properties very quickly."

"Property seizures are a lot easier to do when everybody's sleeping," Richard agreed.

"I would also point out that the longer we are forced to maintain the ruse of your death, the poorer it will play with the people."

"I know that," Richard said, throwing Barris a terse look. "You stick to the logistics, let me worry about the politics." He tapped his fingers against his side and resumed pacing. "Are there any material benefits to waiting, apart from the ability to investigate more cautiously?"

"Jessa has been allowed a grudging position within the organization. Her infiltration could pay off more than it already has, but although they want to use her, they still don't trust her. They told her she still needs to prove her loyalty."

"And who knows what they'll ask her to do for that."

"We also run the risk of them finding the holes in her story, no matter how small we tried to make them."

"If we raid Veruna's estate, you'll get her out?"

"And offworld, as quickly as possible."

Richard stared at the floor, considering all of the information together. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "All right. I can see which way you're leaning on this, Barris, and I agree. Let's move. Let's do it."

"Yes, sire." Barris turned heel and almost ran out the way he'd come.

"Maybe by sunset, my children will finally be safe," Richard murmured.

* * *

Yané dressed nervously. It had been a long time since her duties had required her to go into harm's way. It happened on occasion, but Yané usually did her fighting from behind comfortable walls and even more comfortable computer screens. As always, the nerves brought back strong memories of the occupation and the nightmarish days full of hunger, pain, uncertainty, and adrenaline.

She finished strapping on her body armor and added the outer garment. Like all things Naboo, it was as elegant as it was functional, and heavier than it looked, as the material was specially treated to resist fire. Finally, she strapped on her holster and headed for the armory to retrieve on of the trusty pistols that Captain Panaka had long ago commissioned for Queen Amidala and her handmaidens. She often got teased about it by Joppa and Desmé and the others, but she had devoted quite a number of hours to learning all the best ways to use that weapon. She knew she was safer with something she knew.

On the way to the armory, she passed the large assembly area where the various strike teams were being organized. They were all dressed much like Yané. While she walked, she kept an eye out for her team. Joppa would be staying in Theed to help Captain Barris with logistics in coordinating the overall strike, but Yané would be on the same team as Desmé, which was traveling to Keren to raid Governor Veruna's holdings and, among other things, retrieve Jessa safely back. If Yané knew her teammate, then Desmé would have been one of the first ready to go.

Since she was looking for Desmé and not looking where she was going, the next thing Yané knew was that she was tripping into something tall and hard. Distantly, she recognized that she and someone else were tumbling together to the floor.

"Ooowwwww," she groaned as soon as the spectacular collision came to an end.

"Yeah...I agree."

Yané clambered up and sat down on the floor, rubbing her elbow with a wince. She turned to look at the person she'd run into.

It was no wonder it had hurt so much. He was already dressed in full gear, including a long gun, which she was pretty sure was the cause of the current pain to her elbow. "Sorry," Yané muttered.

With a huff, he sat up as well, and then got to his feet, offering her a hand. She took it, and he pulled her easily to her feet. Then he squinted at her. "I know you. You're one of Sabé and Eirtaé's friends."

Yané peered at him more closely. She supposed he looked familiar, but he was wearing a helmet, so it was hard to say. "I'm Yané."

He snapped his gloved fingers and pointed at her. "That's right! You were the one with Saché during the occupation. Sabé and I rescued the two of you from a battalion of battle droids on our recon mission to Theed."

Recognition clicked into place. "Rizzo?"

"The one and only." He grinned proudly.

"I guess we really haven't ever met since then. You were on Coruscant as part of the Senator's security detail for a while, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Weren't you dating Eirtaé?"

"Let's not talk about that."

"All right."

Out of the corner of her eye, Yané spotted Desmé's profile and glanced toward her. Rizzo followed her gaze. "Oh, are you on the Keren team? So am I."

"Great," Yané responded automatically. "I've got to get my pistol."

"Okay, I'll see you later, then."

"See you. Sorry for running into you."

He grinned over his shoulder. "It could have been worse."

When Yané returned, comfortably armed, the team sergeant was already calling out the team roster. Yané hurried into place beside Desmé and stood at attention. After they were all accounted for, the sergeant then took them through the basics of their mission, including access points and contingency plans. Yané's job was to slice through whatever security obstacles they might encounter to get them inside, and then to dump as much data as she could from Veruna's private servers and security files. It was going to be a long day. She was kind of resentful that she hadn't had any sleep since the night before yesterday.

"Here," said Desmé quietly, as together they headed toward the transport that would take them to Keren swiftly and silently. She handed Yané a small white pill. "It's a stimulant. It'll keep your brain clear until we're done."

"You read my mind." Gratefully, Yané ripped open the foil protecting the pill and swallowed it down, making a face at the bitter flavor. "Do you think it will be over after tonight?" she asked quietly as they took their places side by side in the transport.

"No. But maybe the skies will clear, for a while."

Yané pondered these words for the duration of the journey.

* * *

They put Jessa in a small, windowless room with a single bed, a refresher off to the side, and some holobooks. She made a pretense of reading one, but in the background her mind was cataloguing everything that had happened today, over and over. She wouldn't risk writing any of it down, or even repeating it aloud as there were undoubtedly eyes watching her, but she knew from experience that memory was a fickle thing. If and when she got the opportunity to report back to Richard Naberrie's people, she didn't want to overlook even the smallest, seemingly insignificant detail.

Alas, memorizing details with no form of visual assistance was exhausting, and it wasn't long before Jessa's eyes began to droop. She didn't even bother changing her clothes or washing her face when she curled up on the bed, just to rest her eyes...

When she woke, the room was dark. The motion sensors must have calculated her to be sleeping. She lay there, her heart pounding inexplicably in the blackness, trying to remember a nightmare that her body was recalling but her brain was not.

Jessa sat up and the lighting in the room rose to a gentle level. She found herself wishing they would just stay off. She craved the anonymity of sleep, the comforting nothingness of the dark, where she didn't have to see the walls that reminded her how far away she was from home and everything she'd ever loved.

She sat there, breathing hard, until the breaths came more calmly. Still, the restless feeling lingered as she slowly lowered herself once more.

_One day at a time_, she reminded herself. _Tomorrow, you can go back home_.

She forced herself to focus on these thoughts until uneasy sleep claimed her again.

* * *

When Yané's boots hit the ground there was a slight crunch of frost. She shivered and hurried away from the transport to make way for Desmé, who was right behind her. It was still dark out, but with the particular silent calm of the hour just before dawn. She had never been to Keren before. Unfortunately, there was no time to enjoy the scenery.

"Val Argon!" called the sergeant in a loud whisper. Yané hurried forward.

"You're third, after Drist and Rizzo. They'll cover you. Get us inside. Preferably before anyone knows we're there."

"Yes, sir."

The transport had landed in a field about three-hundred meters from the outer perimeter of Veruna's estate. As quickly and silently as possible, she followed the two leads and they hurried to a console. This was one of five registered "back doors" to the estate that had been available from public records of the place. Yané didn't anticipate any problems getting through.

She was right. Within two minutes she had cracked the entry codes.

"The alarm is down. We can fly up to the house now."

"All right, everyone back on board. Hurry."

The small advance team hustled back onto the transport, this time not bothering to strap in, but clinging to the handholds as the pilot lifted them smoothly in the air and carried them toward the mansion. The rest of the strike force was preparing themselves—double-checking their weapons and gear, shuffling and assuming stoic expressions. Yané was feeling a mite calmer. Having already passed her first hurdle, she had already shed the better part of her nerves. Now her mind was full of soothing code— an opponent she knew very well how to fight.

Their target was the docking doors behind the house, adjacent to the kitchens and the servants' quarters. Yané had a good view of the loading dock as the transport carefully bore down on it. She tightened her grip on her handhold and fixed her sight on the lip of the dock. As soon as the ship came to a stop, she would be hopping onto it with the others.

"Go, go, go!" shouted the sergeant as soon as they landed. Yané tightened her grip on her pistol with her right hand and her slicing gear with her left. Her feet hit the duracrete of the loading dock hard, but she didn't stop.

An agent manning the private security station near the doors was already talking hastily on his intercom. The strike team point men hustled forward and trained their weapons on him. "This is an authorized property seizure per the Naboo Planetary Constitution, Article forty-five," called the sergeant on loudly. His headset amplified his voice so that the security agent could be sure to hear it.

The agent, whose hands had shot into the air in alarm upon being surrounded, slowly lowered one hand to reach for the intercom again. "Do you have a warrant?" he asked.

The sergeant jerked his head at Desmé, who whipped an encrypted datachip and stepped forward, passing it to the agent through a deposit slot below his window. He took it out, and Desmé stepped back.

"This is already taking too long," she said to Yané.

"He's stalling on purpose," Yané said. "But we have to play it by the book."

Desmé's lips pressed together, disapproving. "Work as fast as you can once you're in," she said finally. Yané nodded. She didn't need to be reminded.

A laborious minute later, the security agent said something else into his intercom and then turned his attention back to the strike team. "Opening the door," he said reluctantly.

The door slipped open and Yané followed behind the others. "Good luck," Desmé whispered.

Rizzo fell into step behind her. "Lead the way, oh, tech-saavy one."

"We need to get upstairs," Yané said. "Three stories, and then to the office suite. We'll take the stairs. This way." She pointed to the left and hurried on.

Drist and Rizzo followed. "The stairs, really?" Rizzo complained.

"You're the one with all the physical training," she shot back. "Turbolifts are too easy to manipulate, and you know there are probably people trying to slow us down."

"Stairs it is," he agreed.

Three flights later, Yané was more inclined to share his complaints. She noticed she was easily the most winded of the three, which was a bit annoying, but hardly surprising.

The door to the office suite was locked when they arrived. "They were supposed to unlock everything," Yané observed. "Well, they didn't figure on me." She made short work of the override and the three of them hurried forward again.

"If the blueprints we got are to believed, then they keep all the servers in the dry seal room at the end of the corridor. Hurry."

They ran to the end of the long, clinically-white corridor and thudded to a halt again at another locked door.

"Really, this is getting ridiculous."

When Yané got them through _that_ door they burst in with a lot of clamor. The room was not empty.

"Everybody's hands in the air!" Rizzo shouted, waving his blaster menacingly from one person to the other. There were four in total. "This property is being seized under search warrant. Any further action on your part is suspect for obstruction of justice and you _will_ be arrested!"

Obediently, the four technicians raised their hands into the air, though they didn't look too happy about it.

"Put 'em on your head," Rizzo continued ordering. "And file out of the room, single file. "My friend Drist here will be making sure you stay quiet out in the corridor. Let's go, people!" He looked at Yané. "All yours, specialist."

Yané didn't even wait for the four of them to finish clearing the room, but headed straight for the central data console. In less than thirty seconds she had her case open and she was tapped into the system.

The first thing she looked for was the time stamp for the last backup. To her satisfaction, it was less than six hours ago, and she was willing to bet that Veruna's tech people hadn't had had sufficient time to delete everything they'd wished to in the last fifteen minutes. She was even more willing to bet they hadn't done it correctly, and above all, she was quite certain that someone somewhere else in this building was working just as hard as she was to make sure she wouldn't be able to find or keep everything she was after.

It was a race against the clock. Yané cracked her knuckles. "You wanna play?" she muttered to her unseen opponent. "Let's see what you've got."

* * *

This time, Jessa did not wake from a nightmare, but was pulled from her fretful sleep by distant, shouting voices. She sat up and listened to the sounds for some time, deathly curious about what was going on, but knowing that trying to leave the room was a fruitless gesture. Any attempt to force her way out would certainly blow her cover. She did put her ear to the door, hoping to glean some sort of clue as to what was going on outside, but this was almost no help at all.

She would just have to wait it out.

* * *

"Ah, Your Majesty, welcome." Agent Kal did not look surprised to see Richard enter the room.

Unwilling to wait a moment longer blind and ignorant in the bunker, Richard had ordered Barris to take the necessary measures to bring him here to the 'war room' without anyone being the wiser. It was an inconvenience to the captain, but Richard figured it was no less a bother than having to come report every half hour.

"How is it going?"

Governor Veruna has been apprehended with no problems. He's been escorted to the municipal holding facilities here in Theed.

"We can't hold him in the palace?"

"No, sire. Not according to the correct due process. Technically speaking, the crown doesn't have judicial autonomy in this matter."

"I see. And the others?"

"Of the twenty-three names on our list, we report the successful arrest of twelve so far, but not all of the teams have reached their destinations. And we're still unable to determine the whereabouts of Lady Malleon."

"What about Keren? Veruna's estate?"

"No report for fifteen minutes. The last we heard, they'd successfully gained entrance to the complex. But no word on any arrests or the data that Specialist Val Argon is hoping to retrieve."

"Miss Kennich?"

"No word on her either, Your Majesty."

"All right." Richard crossed his arms and forcefully kept himself from pacing. So much depended on the outcome of the next couple of hours. If this went badly then they might not have another chance for decades. He was worried that he'd made the wrong call.

* * *

"Gotcha!" Yané grinned and actually hopped a little bit into the air.

In her peripheral vision, Rizzo gave a start, from where he was posted by the doorway. "Force, Argon, you scared the jeeps out of me. What, exactly, did you get? Are we done?"

Yané was already unplugging all of her cables, lest whoever she'd been network-wrestling with went looking for her plug-ins. "Yes," she said. "I got everything I possibly can. Everything else has been irretrievably purged. I hope we arrest this guy. He's good. Maybe even better than me, but he didn't know I was coming."

"Really? Better than you?"

"I don't have a big head, Rizzo. Arrogance is an invitation to get caught with your pants down."

"Or a skirt, in your case."

She gave him a weird look. "Are we done with the chit chat? We need to be getting back."

"Right, let's go."

Yané and Rizzo hurried out into the corner, where Drist was still guarding the technicians. Three of them were sitting against the wall of the corridor with their hands still on their head. The fourth was slumped unconscious on the floor.

"Someone try to run?" Yané asked with a frown.

Rizzo laughed. "You didn't hear the yelling and the blaster going off? It's a good thing we had your back, Specialist. Once you computer nerds get going there is no penetrating your heads."

"I did my job, you did yours. We all go home winners. Let's get going."

"What do we do with them?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Unfortunately, we have to bring them along for questioning. Where are they collecting witnesses?"

"In the staff room."

"Staff room it is."

* * *

When Jessa's door opened, she was ready. She didn't get to her feet, but she knew her tension was clear.

The man who'd questioned her yesterday was back. He looked decidedly less pleased to see her.

"Get up," he said harshly. "We need to move." He threw something at her. "Put that on, quickly."

Jessa shook it out and blinked in surprise. It was a uniform of some kind, by the looks of it, Naboo.

"I managed to get a couple of them before they realized it," he said. Jessa assumed he would go on to explain who 'they' were and why he had needed to get them.

She also sensed that quibbling over modesty at this moment was probably not a good idea. "What's happening?" she asked, as she stripped down to her underwear and began grappling with the closures on the jumpsuit he'd provided.

"Somehow, the Royal forces have caught on to us. They're conducting a raid even as we speak. I'll be questioning you about the timing as soon as we're safely away from here. Move!"

Jessa was still finishing with the jumpsuit as she hurried after him. She concentrated every effort to show surprise at the fact of the raid. Inwardly, she marveled that it was happening. Clearly, King Richard had decided knowing _where_ to look was good enough for now. She hoped that the raid included a plan to rescue her.

Her escort led her through several twists and turns, but he couldn't seem to dodge the sounds of shouting and blaster fire in all directions. They were herded steadily up, enough that finally they passed by doorways that had pale morning sunshine spilling through. They were aboveground. Jessa could tell her companion was not pleased by this fact.

They rounded a final bend in a hurry, and almost ran smack dab into a group of people. Instantly, Jessa recognized Yané, decked from head to toe in elegant black gear that exactly matched the costume that Jessa had just donned.

Yané's eyes lit up in recognition. She looked at the two of them, and excitement and relief came over her. In one sickening moment, Jessa realized what the other girl was assuming, but had no time to warn her otherwise.

"Jessa, oh, good! I was so worried. I—" she stopped short in alarm at the look on the face of Jessa's escort.

Jessa tried to run for it, but she was too slow. He seized her painfully by the elbow and brought her crashing back against his chest, the business end of a heavy blaster cutting sharply into her throat. The two guards escorting Yané raised their blasters in reflex, but did not fire.

"I knew it," the man hissed into his ear. "I knew it had something to do with you. Don't come any closer!" he shouted. "I'll kill her. Move aside."

Yané looked like she was going to throw up. Cautiously, she stepped back.

"You four, get out of here, if you can." At his words, Jessa realized that the other people with Yané and the soldiers were in fact prisoners. They eagerly scrambled off. One of the two soldiers followed their escape with annoyance.

"Now stand aside," barked Jessa's captor. "Let me pass."

Grudgingly, the three of them backed against the corridor and made way for him.

"Yané," said Jessa, her voice tight with the press of the blaster.

"Shut up!" hissed the man.

She ignored him. "Tell Larkin I love her. I'll always love her."

He pressed the barrel even more tightly into her windpipe, enough to make her want to choke. They brushed passed Yané and her two friends. Jessa's heart was thumping loudly in her ears. She didn't think her usefulness as a hostage was going to last very long. Her captor had no idea how much information she had been able to memorize in her short tenure with the organization. Apart from any vendetta he might harbor, it would not be expedient to leave her alive.

They reached the end of the corridor. He hauled her a few more rooms and then dragged her into a small, abandoned break room.

"For betraying the Klions, Jessa Kennich, I have just become your executioner. I would love to interrogate you, but I can't have you dragging me down now."

"No, please," she said desperately. She opened her mouth to tell him about Larkin, and then another fear crossed her mind— that confession would put her daughter in danger. "Please don't kill me."

"You should have thought of that before you came here," he said. He looked over his shoulder. "I don't have time for this."

They were the last words she ever heard.

* * *

Drist was still in the middle of reporting their encounter with Jessa over the intercom when they heard a muffled blaster fire coming from the direction where Jessa and the man holding her captive had disappeared.

"Oh no," Yané whispered.

"Wait!" Rizzo yelled after as she took off toward the sound. He reached her just as she reached the intersection of halls and seized her forcibly by the elbow to haul her back. "Just wait," he said urgently into her ear.

Standing still in that moment was almost the hardest thing she'd ever done. Rizzo listened hard for a couple of minutes, until the sound of fleeing footsteps had faded even further into the distance, running away from them. Then he peered cautiously around the corner, took a few steps into the open, and silently beckoned Yané to follow him.

She kept a few steps behind as Rizzo checked each room along the way with equal caution. At the fourth door, he tensed, and then his shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked at Yané with sympathy.

She forced her feet to move, one in front of the other, and then forced her eyes to look inside.

"Oh, Jessa," she said sadly.

He had shot her in the face. Since she was wearing the Naboo security uniform, a blaster shot anywhere else might not have killed her. Yané couldn't look for longer than a moment. She closed her eyes and tried not to be sick. This did nothing to mask the scent of charred flesh, still smoking.

"Bastard," Rizzo muttered. Yané opened her eyes again when she sensed him pass her and watched him crouch down to feel the woman's neck, as if there was some hope she would still be breathing with half of her face blasted away.

By now, Drist had arrived and took in the scene. "I'm going after him," he said. HE hurried away as quickly as he'd come.

Rizzo got to his feet again and "Sergeant, this is Rizzo. Kennich is dead. Repeat, Kennich is dead. Requesting retrieval team to take the body back to Theed. Drist is in pursuit of her killer. I'm taking Specialist val Argon back to the convoy." He gave them instructions how to find Jessa's body.

"Acknowledged, Rizzo. See you at rendezvous."

"What?" Yané said. "No, we have to stay. I'm not leaving her!"

"Right now getting those files out of here safely is the most important thing left for us to do. Do you want her to have died for nothing?"

"No," said Yané in a small voice.

"I don't like it any more than you do, but we can't help her anymore. Let's go."

* * *

Coruscant felt cold and lonely without Ben. Sabé found it difficult to explain. She was used to life without him, but being on the same world with him always made her feel better. It was a testament to the great chasm in their relationship that an entire planet felt like a small distance.

Ordinarily, she would have taken solace in her sister's company, but Padmé was distracted and moody. She wouldn't say, but Sabé knew it was because of Anakin. How strange, to feel the unease surrounding him through not one, but the two people whom she loved more than any others in the galaxy.

Distance and distractions notwithstanding, she could not depart for Naboo without first taking her leave of her twin. When she parked her speeder on the private landing platform of Padmé's apartments, it was Dormé who came down the stairs to greet her.

"Sabé," Dormé greeted with a serene embrace. "I'm glad you're here."

"Is Padmé all right?"

"She's a little bit tired, but otherwise she's fine."

"Has Anakin been here today?"

"Yes, once." Dormé looked disapproving. "He wanders in and out of here so randomly, it's hard to remember at times. "She's in her bedroom."

"Thank you, Dormé."

Sabé made her way along the familiar route to the back of the suite. She waved her hand over the door chime outside the doors to Padmé's apartment.

"Who is it?"

"Your long-lost sister."

"Come in." Sabé could picture the tired smile on Padmé's voice.

When she entered the room, she saw Padmé sitting at her writing table, a small collection of datapads and papers spread out before her. Her hair was pulled up neatly, but she was still in her dressing gown.

"You look uncharacteristically comfortable," Sabé observed wryly.

Padmé looked up and laughed. "When you're this pregnant, then you can talk to me about twenty-five kilo gowns and temple-squeezing headdresses.

"I don't think I'll ever be pregnant."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you will be."

Sabé opened her mouth and then closed it, hesitating. She had so many times wished to tell Padmé about Obi-Wan, and how she had long ago vowed to never devote herself to anyone else, at least as long as he was alive. But, as always, something held her back. Maybe someday. Maybe if the war ended soon and Ben decided to discontinue the Jedi order. He had hinted that he was giving it serious consideration. Anakin was no longer his apprentice, after all.

"We'll see," was all she decided to say.

She sat down on the bed, facing Padmé. "So—" she began, and looked at her sister's belly. "Do you ever wonder about your baby. I mean—"

"What about him? Or her?" Padmé asked, reaching to rub a hand over her stomach with curiosity.

"Anakin is so strong in the Force," Sabé said. "Freakishly high midichlorian count or some such, am I right?"

"Yes."

"So doesn't it follow that any children you have together would also be strong in the Force?"

"I suppose." It was clear from the tone of Padmé's voice that she'd already had these thoughts, but never before aloud. "I had been hoping Anakin would bring this up, but he can't seem to stop worrying about my safety." She frowned fretfully.

"Are you going to have the baby tested?"

"Undoubtedly."

"And what will you do if the Jedi want your child?"

Padmé's hand tightened ever-so-slightly. "I don't know," she confessed. "Why are you asking?" The question was defensive.

"I was just wondering, Padmé, that's all. You're my sister. I think about these things."

Padmé turned to look out the window. "Perhaps these worries are for nothing. Perhaps the baby will be as ordinary in the Force as you or me."

"And if not, then I can help you hide from the big, mean Jedi."

Padmé laughed.

"I'm serious. I don't want to see you go through what Danae did."

"It's very sweet of you, Sabé."

Sabé turned her attention to the work spread out over Padmé's table. "What are you working on?"

Now Padmé assumed a slightly alarmed posture. "Oh, it's— that is—" She looked positively frightful.

Sabé frowned. "What's wrong?"

Padmé looked around. "I had a meeting today. With Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila, Prince Organa, a couple others."

"Senator Mothma?" Sabé repeated. "She's so young."

"But eloquent," Padmé observed. "And right," she added softly.

"What was your meeting about?"

"Contingencies." Padmé didn't seem alarmed anymore. Now she seemed sad. "Some of don't like the way things are going in the Senate. I'm almost afraid to say it, but—"

"It's okay, Padmé. I know what you mean. And you're right to be talking about it."

"Even if it's in whispers?"

Sabé gave a grim smile. "For now. When I get back from Naboo, I'll help you." She looked around for the chrono. "Speaking of which—"

"You're all set to go attend Richard's fake funeral?"

"Yes. Are you sure you don't want to join me?"

"I'm still so angry at him. I think angry enough that I could stay away just out of spite. But the assassination attempt was very real. I'm not putting this baby within a planetary system of Theed right now."

"I understand. I'm sure the rest of the family will too."

"One nice thing, when Richard comes back to life, the people might be more upset with him than with me for a change."

"Only if he loses this silent war of his."

"I _do_ hope he catches them," Padmé admitted.

"Me too." Sabé got to her feet, and Padmé did the same. The sisters embraced warmly. "I'll see you," Sabé said as she pulled away. "Keep a spot warm for me on your secret committee.

"I will. I love you, Sabé."

"And I love you."

* * *

Eleven hours after the strike had ended, Richard was still in the control room. The monitors were quiet now, but the rest of the room was still busy, assembled and waiting for Agent Kal to present the information they had obtained from Veruna's computer files in Keren.

Richard sat in the back of the room, mostly unbothered by anyone, reflecting on the day's events, wondering the precise timing of his return to the public eye and how he was going to tell Ciedron that he'd gotten his ex-girlfriend killed.

He hoped it had been worth it.

"Your majesty, Lady Nashira is outside."

"Let her in." He could use the company.

Nashira was dressed much more elegantly than anyone else in the room, and looked easily five times as refreshed. "Your Majesty," she said with a respectful nod upon approaching.

He waved at the hard, empty chair beside him. "Please, sit."

She did so, and then took a good hard look at his face. "You look exhausted."

"I'm pretty sure none of us here have slept in almost three days," he said, looking around the room.

"A dedicated effort. Why do you also look as though the sky has collapsed inward on you?"

"Someone died," he said. "Once again because they went where I asked them to go." Jessa had been the only casualty of the entire operation. As grateful he was that nobody else had lost their life, the fact that it had been _her_ made it feel like the universe was exercising some kind of cruel vendetta against him.

"The mother of Lord Ceidron's child?" Lady Nashira asked delicately.

He nodded.

"I am sorry for it. How tragic."

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I still have to tell Ciedron and—" he halted, his voice feeling harsh in his throat. "—I can't remember the little girl's name." A deep sense of despair came over him, and he put his head in his hands.

He could not afford to crumble, not yet. Not with so many people around. He wrestled against the tears and the sobs, clamoring for escape from his chest.

A soft hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder. "Her name was Larkin, my lord."

Richard sniffed loudly, and straightened, squaring his shoulders and blinking harshly. "Larkin," he repeated. "Yes, Larkin. I remember now."

He noticed Barris standing uncomfortably off to the side, watching the scene with hesitation. "What is it, Captain?" Richard asked.

"With your permission, sire, we're ready to begin."

"By all means. Proceed."

Yané and Agent Kal took their places near the front of the room, and Agent Kal called for quiet. There was a general scuffle and scraping of chairs as everyone heeded his request.

"Specialist," Agent Kal said, looking at Yané expectantly.

She cleared her throat. Richard noticed that the young woman looked even more tired than he was. "The agency we have been trying to track down these past few years is called the Klion organization, or simply, the Klions. Their mission is simple— to undermine the Naberrie dynasty. What leaders we've been able to identify are all from the Naboo aristocracy. They personally fund the enterprises of the group, disguising any illegal activity through businesses fronting as charities."

Agent Kal stepped forward. "The Klions' strategy seems to be twofold. One, to throw serious financial support behind legitimate, non-Naberrie candidates for the throne, and two, fear tactics to try and end the regime by force." Kal glanced back at Richard in the rear of the room. "Lately, as we know, they have stepped up these latter efforts considerably.

"We've made twenty-six arrests today," he went on, "and have warrants out for forty-three more confirmed conspirators."

Richard straightened and caught Kal's eye. "Is that all of them?" he asked meaningfully.

Yané shook her head. "I don't think so, sire. The records we found indicate that the organization was planned around a strict independent cell structure. We've only lopped of a few of the heads today. I'm sure there are more out there. There was a large chunk of information that I wasn't able to salvage."

"Did you get proof that they were behind the speeder bombing?"

"Yes, sire."

"Very well." Richard stood to his feet. He felt like just scowling for the rest of his life. "We've done all we can do for today," he said. "I'll be announcing my return from the dead as soon as this information is organized into an acceptable press release."

As quickly as it had come to order, the meeting began to break up again. Richard turned to Lady Nashira.

"You should take your own advice, Your Majesty, and get some sleep."

"Not yet. I won't be able to sleep until I've seen Ceidron and Claria." It wasn't a cheerful thought. The forthcoming confession to his sister and brother-in-law filled him with dread, an ache that seemed to be physically pressing into his chest.

* * *

Ceidron watched his daughter fighting to keep her breakfast on her fork. Larkin was frowning in deep concentration at the _flava_, willing it not to keep tumbling off the tines. He was curious how long it would be before she thought to use her spoon instead.

Finally, she seemed to decide that further war against the utensil was not worth her time. She put down the fork, defeated, and looked up at Ceidron. "Are we going to see mommy today?"

It was the same question every day. And he never had an answer for her, except, "I don't know, Larkin. Maybe."

"Where did she go?"

"She went on a trip, but she didn't know how long it would be. Don't worry. She wants to come back." He didn't know where Jessa had disappeared to, precisely, but he did at least know that much to be true.

"Maybe tomorrow?"

"Maybe tomorrow."

The past five days had been a difficult blur for Ceidron. True, in Jessa's absence, Larkin had drawn closer to him, but it was a matter of default. Larkin seemed to recognize that in this strange place, Ceidron was her best link to her absent mother.

"Did your mom ever take you to the central library on Commenor?"

"No," she said assuredly.

"It's a big building with lots of funny stairs."

Her eyes widened in recognition. "And a see-through roof with lots of colors?"

He smiled. "Yes, that's it."

"We go there lots of days. Mommy reads grown-up things and lets me play with the holo viewers. Sometimes I get to watch a whole one."

"You like holos?"

"I like 'Nerf Tales'."

"I don't think I've seen that one."

"There are lots of holos of it. I like Looka. He's my favorite."

"He's a nerf?"

"Uh-huh. He's so funny. He always falls down."

"Maybe some time we can watch it together."

"You have 'Nerf Tales' on Naboo?"

"I'm sure I can find it. Let me ask at the palace. I bet we can watch it together this afternoon, if you like."

For the first time since he'd met her, Larkin brightened and gave a smile that was completely hers to give.

"Do you two mind if I interrupt?"

Ceidron and Larkin turned. Claria was standing in the doorway of the dining room, hesitant. Larkin immediately retreated back into her isolation. "What is it?" Ceidron asked.

Claria looked at Larkin, and seemed genuinely apologetic for the disruption. "Ceidron, they're asking for us up at the palace. As soon as possible. Richard wants to see us. I think, maybe—" she threw a meaningful glance at Larkin.

"Right." He put his napkin on his plate and pushed back from the table. "Larkin, do you want to come with us to the palace now? We can ask about that holo program,."

Larkin looked between them nervously and then gave a tentative nod.

"All right," he said with an encouraging smile. He held out his hand. After a moment, she climbed down out of her chair and walked around the table to take it. It felt incredibly small inside his.

"Let me just get my things," said Claria.

The journey to the main part of the palace was quiet. They walked together, Claria and Ceidron speaking on occasion, Larkin saying nothing. She just kept her eyes on everything they passed, which was mostly duracrete hallways and security guards.

Ceidron hadn't ever been to Richard's private hideaway, deep in the bowels of the palace. He knew it existed, of course, but visiting it had always seemed to him to be a gesture of submission to Richard's vanity. It was an uncharitable way to be, he knew. After all, the recent bombing had only proved yet again that Richard's paranoia was not without basis. But for some reason it was disgusting to Ceidron to visit a king who was holed up away, hiding from his own people.

It was not Richard they first met when they arrived in the bunker, however. It was the queen.

"Yvenne!" said Claria. "I heard you were back. We were going to come today." She hurried forward to embrace her sister-in-law.

"Hello, Claria. Ceidron," said Yvenne. "And this must be Larkin," she concluded, looking at the little girl still clutching Richard's hand.

"Yes. Larkin, I'd like you to meet Yvenne Lornaira Sorenst Naberrie, Queen of the Naboo."

Larkin blinked at Yvenne in slight awe. "You have a lot of names," she declared.

Yvenne smiled. "Two of them I got when I became the queen."

"Do you have a baby in your belly?"

"Yes, I do. A baby boy."

"When will he come out?"

"Very soon. I have a little girl named Sioned. She's here in the palace now. Would you like to play with her?"

Larkin looked up at Ceidron uncertainly. Yvenne shot Ceidron a meaningful look over her head.

"It's okay, Larkin. Go with Queen Yvenne. Princess Claria and I have to talk to the king, but we'll come and get you after we're finished."

Larkin considered this proposal, and then finally pulled her hand from Ceidron's with obvious reluctance and transferred it to Yvenne's outstretched palm.

"Sioned and I have been staying with the Gungans," Yvenne began to tell her as they walked away. "They gave her some new toys. I think you might like them too. Have you ever met a Gungan before?"

"No."

Ceidron had no time to listen to their conversation further. The escort who had shown them to the bunker stepped forward. "The king is in the other room," he prompted.

Claria took Ceidron's abandoned hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Let's go," she said.

In the back room, Richard was sitting alone at a table, looking like he hadn't slept for a week. His jacket was wrinkled and unbuttoned, and he desperately needed to shave. There were dark circles under his eyes. When he looked up and saw them, he only seemed to grow more depressed. "Sit down," he said tiredly, waving at a sofa next to the door.

They sat. Richard closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, collecting his thoughts. "There is a group of terrorists among the nobility here on Naboo called the Klions." He gave a dry laugh. "They chafe under the iron fist of the Naberrie clan. Ceidron, you'd probably fit right in."

An impatient retort rose in Ceidron's chest, but Claria gave his hand a warning squeeze and he bit it back down again.

"In any case, they are the ones responsible for the car bombing. The attack on Yvenne and Sioned last month." He hesitated, then added, "Mother's assassination."

Claria gasped. "You found them, really? When. I mean, how? After all this time?"

"We found them because they let their guard down when they thought they'd killed me." Now Richard looked squarely at Ceidron. "And because in two days Jessa was able to do what we couldn't do for five years. Infiltrate them and lead us straight to their doorstep."

Ceidron sucked in a breath. "What did you do?" he asked.

"I made her a deal, for her financial security. I asked for her help in this matter."

"And where is she now?" The question was a line of a script in which Ceidron wished he didn't have to partake. The answer was written in Richard's posture and the gaping fact of Jessa's absence.

A burden of grief passed over Richard's features. "She's dead, Ceidron," he choked out. "She was killed by the Klions early this morning as soon as they confirmed her double cross. I'm so sorry."

All Ceidron could do was stare at Richard's dusty boots for several eternal moments of silence.

"You bastard," he said finally. He looked up and met his brother-in-law's eyes with menace. "You selfish, short-sighted, petty, manipulative bastard."

"Ceidron—" Claria began.

"No." He stood to his feet, and pulled his hand out of hers. "I will never forgive him for this."

"We couldn't have done this without her, Ceidron."

"You don't know that."

"She's a hero."

"A hero?" Ceidron laughed bitterly. "Killed by an aristocrat, on behalf of an aristocrat, for an aristocratic cause. Yes, that sounds exactly how Jessa Kennich would have chosen to be killed. Thank you so much for that legacy, Richard."

He stormed out of the room. Claria didn't say anything else, but got to her feet and hurried after him. He pounded passed the shocked guard and out into the hallway toward the lift that would take them away from the gods-forsaken bunker. Ceidron was nearly blind with rage and grief.

"Ceidron," Claria pleaded. "Wait!"

He was walking so quickly that she had to break into a light run to reach him. When she did, she reached out forcefully and seized his balled fist with both of her small hands, gently tugging him to a halt. "Stop!" she cried. "Look at me."

He turned around and stared at the hem of her gown.

"Look at me," she entreated again, reaching up and pulling his face toward her. Her face was a picture of quiet compassion. "Ceidron," she said, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

He crumbled. His face broke out in tears and his knees gave out. He dropped down to the floor, and Claria followed him, holding him until he spent as much of his pain as he could bear.

"What am I going to tell her?" he said, finally, his face pressed into his wife's shoulder.

"Shhh," Claria soothed. "We'll tell her the truth. That her mother was brave and she helped a lot of people. We'll tell her together. I'll be with you, Ceidron. Don't worry. We'll be her family now. Together."

* * *

**A/N:** I know, I know! I updated twice in the same month!

Jessa's death was hard to write. She's one of those people (like too many in the real world) who get a much harder deal than anybody rightly deserves from life. She's one of the grittiest characters I've ever written, and I admire her a lot.


	8. Empire

**Chapter Eight - **_**Empire**_

Sabé and Maité arrived in Theed late in the evening. The hangar adjacent to the palace was quiet when they disembarked, but Sabé was happy to see a handful of very welcoming faces when she finally set foot on Naboo again.

"Sabé!" It was Claria that first rushed forward for an embrace.

She hugged her little sister tightly, rocking her back and forth. "Oh, I missed you," she said.

"Me too." Claria pulled away and looked back at her waiting husband with a smile.

Sabé gave a polite smile. "Hello, Ceidron." Claria's husband had always been something of a strange acquaintance for her. Except for Claria, he seemed to keep the rest of the family at arm's length, and since their marriage, Sabé had spent most of her time offworld. She hadn't gotten the chance to really make friends.

"Princess," he nodded in return.

She turned her attention to the final adult in the group more eagerly. "Yvenne." She took care as she hugged her sister-in-law. "You look wonderful," she added, reaching down fondly to touch Yvenne's heavily pregnant belly. "Between you and Padmé, the population of infants in this family is about to burst wide open."

"It shouldn't be much longer," Yvenne said.

"And Sioned!" Sabé crouched down to smile at her little niece. She had her mother's fiery red hair, and she was looking at Sabé with deep suspicion. "I know you don't know me that well yet. I'm your aunt."

Sioned looked between Sabé and Yvenne and Claria with deep concentration. "Daddy's sister. Like Aunt Claria."

"That's right."

"Nice to meet you," the little princess said primly.

Sabé laughed and pulled her into a hug, which seemed to startle the girl.

"And who's this?" she asked, pulling away finally to fix her attention on a forlorn little girl standing near Ciedron.

"This is Larkin," said Claria.

"My daughter," Ceidron added.

Sabé's eyes rose high. "Daughter?" she repeated.

"It's a long story."

"And a very sad one."

"Nice to meet you, Larkin."

Larkin just looked at Sabé without saying anything and then stared at her shoes.

"We'll talk about it later," said Claria.

"All right." Sabé rose to her feet again. She looked between her two sisters. "Where is Richard?"

"He's still in seclusion. He's been waiting for you."

"Me, why?" Sabé asked. Together, they all began walking toward the end of the hangar.

"He's ready to reveal himself to the public again, but he wanted to wait until you were here. For a show of solidarity."

"He wants me standing behind him," Sabé commented wryly.

"That makes two of us."

"Well, I won't be there, that's for sure," muttered Ceidron.

Claria gave him a distressed look and then shot another 'I'll explain later' expression at Sabé.

"Did you receive our communiqué on your journey?"

"About this Klion thing? Yes, I did. It's astonishing. And relieving. When is the press conference?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"I'll need to catch up."

"Captain Barris and Yané can undertake that. They're waiting for you in your receiving room."

"Well, you've thought of everything, I see."

"We've had three days with little else to occupy our minds."

"Well, I'm certain it will be the preferred news story on Naboo for weeks to come."

* * *

_Obi-Wan was falling. The world seemed to be passing too quickly and too slowly all at once. Dust and rocks and shambles fell all around him. For the first time in a long time, he felt the taste of helpless fear creep into his mind._

The attack had come from below. Cody had fired at him. His

friend_. He had just been assassinated. And with no warning, he was fairly certain, that this was his end, with a thousand questions left unanswered, that all fed into one great one._

_Why?_

He would die without ever knowing.

_I'm sorry, Sabé._

And then there was a painful smack of impact, but the void of the beyond did not overcome him. Instead there was only pain, shock, and suffocation. Abruptly, he realized he was surrounded by water.

Not the end quite yet, then.

He began to swim.

* * *

"Senator! Senator!"

Padmé rose in alarm from her desk. She'd just been reading an encrypted communiqué from Mon Mothma. "What is it Esmé? Any news from Anakin?"

Anakin had said he was going to end the war. That soon it would all be over. Padmé had felt nothing but unease since his departure. He said that the Jedi were traitors, that the Republic's defenders had become its greatest enemy. Padmé had wrestled since that time, wondering what implications this might have on the plans she'd been making in secret with Mon Mothma and the others. She hadn't told Anakin about what was going on behind the scenes between this select group of senators. She knew he would call it treason. The knowledge of it made her physically ill.

Esmé shook her head in answer to Padmé's question. "No, my lady. There has been no news of him. But the other Jedi—it's all over the holo feed, my lady. All the smoke yesterday, the rumors. The Jedi—" she gulped. "they staged a mass coup against the Chancellor. It's suspected they joined with the Separatists, and—"

Padmé sucked in a breath. So whatever was happening, it was happening fast. In their last meeting, Bail had expressed his belief that the Jedi might be sympathetic to their concerns. She couldn't help but conclude that the Jedi 'rebellion' seemed in keeping with such a speculation. The Jedi hadn't approved of the Chancellor's behavior either.

But Anakin did.

She closed her eyes while Esmé continued talking.

"They've tried to assassinate the Chancellor. He's called an emergency session of the Senate."

"Prepare my gown and my shuttle. I will be there directly."

"Yes, my lady." Esmé bowed out of the room, and Sabé immediately headed for the nearest communications terminal.

"Connect me to Prince Organa, please."

* * *

Richard awoke feeling nervous, yet strangely peaceful for the first time in a long time. Now that the heart of the Klion organization had been discovered and rooted out, he could finally devote his full energies to being a proper King of Naboo. At such a high cost to his personal life, he was anxious to devote himself to his work again.

As he was finishing up with his wardrobe, there was a furious pounding on the door.

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"

An aide was waiting on the other side. "Is it the queen?" Richard asked.

The young man blinked in surprise. "No, not yet. It's— Coruscant. The Chancellor—" he swallowed.

"What about him?"

"You must come."

Sabé, Claria, Yvenne, and to his surprise, several members of the Council, were waiting for him in the lobby of the conference center.

"Your Majesty," said Governor Bibble, rising to his wobbly legs. "It is good to see you alive. Imagine our surprise when we heard the news."

"Thank you, Governor," Richard said, accepting his enthusiastic greeting with genuine fondness. The other Councilors seemed to have a variety of reactions to seeing Richard. Some looked pleased, some looked cautious, some looked disgruntled. One of them was missing.

"I take it this press conference has something to do with Lady Dayan's arrest, Your Majesty?" asked Maia Daris pointedly.

"Yes, Councilor. But I'm more interested to know why I was called here so urgently to a press conference of my own making. Madon suggested something to do with the Capital?"

Sabé stepped forward with a grim face. "This message was broadcast from Coruscant on all frequencies. All of the planet knows. Your press conference is going to be much different than you expected, Richard."

She pressed the key to activate the holo screen and turned up the volume. Then she stepped back and they all watched the news feed together.

The feed showed a recording of the Senate chamber, a familiar sight to Richard. He'd been there a few times himself, and of course every Naboo knew by heart the defiant demand of young Queen Amidala that the Senate take action to liberate their besieged planet.

What was less familiar was the strange, cloaked figure standing in the Chancellor's place.

"Is that Palpatine?" Richard asked in wonder.

"Yes."

Palpatine spoke, and his voice seemed as transformed as his face. "_My fellow citizens, I am grieved to tell you this evening of a reprehensible act within these hallowed halls, at traitorous rebellion against the very core of our beloved sovereignty_."

He went on to elaborate that the Jedi had united in secret against the forces of the Republic in an attempt to bring an end to the Chancellor's control of the Republic.

"That doesn't make any sense at all," Richard said, looking at Sabé in conclusion. She only shook her head with a dark expression and gestured back to the recording.

"_Out of the ashes of this betrayal, however, rises a new era of benefit for the Republic. General Grievous is dead, and the Separatist leaders have been rooted out and destroyed. The war is at an end_."

Richard's eyes widened. That much should have been good news. Why, then, did Sabé look as though her heart had been ripped from her?

"_The attempt on my life_," Palpatine croaked slowly, "_has left me scarred and deformed, but I assure you my resolve has never been stronger. The war is over. The Separatists have been defeated, and the Jedi rebellion has been foiled. We stand on the threshold of a new beginning._

In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society which I assure you will last for ten-thousand years."

The entire Senate burst into heady applause. Richard looked at his sister and understood. "By the Force," he whispered. "This is—"

"Unimaginable. I didn't dare to think he would go that far." She turned off the feed and then turned away, disgusted. "And yet, now I can't help but wonder if it was inevitable."

Silence fell.

"What do we do now?"

Richard sat down. In an instant, everything he'd been hoping for Naboo's future crumbled like loose sand. This was so far beyond any challenge a Naboo sovereign had faced in the history of the planet.

"What _can_ we do?" he asked.

"We only have two choices. We either fight, or we fall in line." Maia Daris stepped forward. "Which will it be?"

Richard looked up. "No matter what I do, this is going to divide the people."

"Palpatine is Naboo. If we resist him, it will make a very strong statement," said Sabé.

"And he will punish us strongly for it. He has control of the clone army. An army that Padmé was so fiercely against," he added.

"Padmé would never capitulate on this point," Sabé pressed.

"Padmé is not queen anymore," he snapped back. "This is my lot, and I will do as I see fit, Sabé. I will not be the puppet to my sister's example. And anyway, she never did anything recklessly."

"Has she contacted us?" asked Claria quietly.

"Not yet. Communications in and out of Coruscant have been almost impossible."

Richard stood to his feet. "We will comply, for now. There isn't any other safe outlet. If the people hate me for it, then so be it. At least they'll be alive. Today is not a day for rebellion."

Most of the Councilors looked approving at these words. Claria looked distressed, and Sabé highly disappointed. Yvenne stepped over and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"How much time until the press conference?" Richard asked.

"Just over an hour, my lord."

"Good. I'm calling my own emergency session. Councilors, if you'll join me?"

* * *

That morning, Ceidron had awoken early. He wanted to be far, far away from the palace during Richard's press conference. He had disappeared into the darkest, seediest bar he knew of, in the part of the city where terrorists with a pedigree like a Klion were certainly not going to be bothering him. It was the sort of place where a Correllian brandy was always readily available, even before working hours.

He was nursing just such a beverage when the bartender called for silence and played back a wide broadcast message from Coruscant.

After he watched it, Ceidron ordered an entire bottle.

"Maybe it's a good thing you died, Jessa," he said into his glass. "At least you weren't here to see this."

A little while later, he paid his sizeable tab and left the bar, heading for the central plaza in Theed where a crowd was gathering to watch the announced press conference. Ceidron figured he was probably the only person in the crowd who knew that Richard would be returning from the dead ahead of time. Now, however, he was more curious what his brother-in-law would have to say on the matter of the Galactic Empire.

He found a comfortable shadow and hid as deeply inside as the milling crowd would allow. He crossed his arms, and waited. There was a subdued quality to the crowd. People were frightened, and as far as they knew, they had no clear leadership to look to.

At the appointed time, the broadcast was prompt. The royal insignia displayed, then flickered to a feed of a podium surrounded by journalists and members of the government. Richard's press secretary stepped up to the podium and a suspenseful hush fell over the waiting crowd.

"People of Naboo, it is my great pleasure to introduce, his Majesty King Richard Naberrie."

Ceidron could have used a baton to conduct the gasp that followed. On the holo feed, the journalists were jumping up and down and most of the rest of the audience looked positively stunned, talking to each other in close, frantic conversations.

Richard waited, holding up a hand for silence, until the initial shock finally wore down enough that he could be heard.

"My fellow citizens of Naboo," he began. "I must first and foremost apologize. I have deceived you all in a deliberate fabrication of my death."

Another burst of loud murmuring. This time Richard pressed forcefully through it in order to bring it more quickly to a halt. "It is my hope," he said, "then when you understand my reasons for this farce, you will forgive me, though I make no apology for the fact that, due to this action on my part, Naboo is safer than it was."

He quickly ran through a brief summary of the Klions, their mission and their history with the royal family. He gave a few names of some of the ringleaders that had been arrested. He made no mention of Jessa, not even anonymously. When he reached the more triumphant parts of the tale, there was enthusiastic applause from the people in the crowd. Ceidron did not join in.

Finally, Richard put his hands on either side of the podium and sighed deeply. "All of this was to be the central focus of this morning's broadcast," he finally said. "But as you know, we find ourselves at a much greater crossroads.

"Beset by unrest from within and without, the Congressional Council and I have voted almost unanimously that the following measures will be taken for the safety of the Naboo."

"For the next year, all prices are frozen, including interest rates. An evening curfew will be established for most civilian activity. More specific details will be forthcoming as we finalize them, but I urge all Naboo to accept and bear with these measures until we are better able to understand how the changes to the galaxy will affect Naboo. At the end of a year, these measures will be readdressed for suspension or continuation, as the ruling body of Naboo deems necessary."

Another, quieter, ripple of conversation passed through the crowd. The people seemed cautious. There were some resentful faces, but most people were grudgingly nodding.

Richard paused and stared at the edge of the podium. Ceidron stood up a little straighter and narrowed his eyes. "The Council has also voted to establish life terms for all elected officials on a planetary level—" he paused "—including the crown."

Ceidron's blood ran cold. The journalists burst into a frenzy of urgent questions, and the people burst into another surprised burst of noise.

"This measure—" Richard said "—will better ensure our stability in the uncertain future. That is all. Good day."

Richard stepped away, leaving a flabbergasted press secretary in his wake. Ceidron stayed resolutely in his corner, arms crossed, glowering.

He couldn't believe that Richard would do this. Debate after debate, countless times over, the rebuttal against Ceidron's disdain of the Naboo monarchy had been that despite appearances, the sovereign _had_always been elected. Naboo was still a democracy.

But no more, apparently.

Within moments of Richard's departure, a thread of applause began from somewhere on the far side, and spread throughout the gathered people like a wildfire. Or a plague, Ceidron thought inwardly, scowling. Most faces were determined, resolute, and proud. Soon the applause lifted into cheers of approval.

Ceidron knew he really should not have been surprised. This was the same people who an hour ago had not known who to turn to for leadership. Now their leader had miraculously emerged and done so with a show of strength. They were not helpless children wandering alone in the night.

More than that, the Naboo loved their Naberries. He knew that much of the population considered themselves to be monarchists, and not proponents of democracy at all. Like it or not, this is what the Naboo thought they wanted, in their heart of hearts. No wonder Richard knew it would be easy.

Most of all, he knew that given a choice between freedom or security, most people would rather be alive, even if it meant they were enslaved. It was a sad truth that the rare idealist would never be able to change. He just wished he hadn't been forced to witness it so intimately twice in one morning.

"Yes, Jessa, if you had to die young, you probably timed it right," he concluded again.

He reached up and wiped away bitter tears from the corners of his eyes. He hadn't even realized they were there until now. Then he looked around and started trying to figure out the best way to get back home. He was a lost soul out of place on this world, but he had a wife, and he had a daughter, and they would both need him.

* * *

Sabé didn't know the last time she had been so angry. Her disappointment in Richard's conduct in faking his own death was nothing in comparison to what she was feeling now.

"Richard!" She shouted as soon as they were beyond the sight of the press. She didn't care that the Congressional Council and half the planetary Senate were looking on. They needed a dressing down every bit as much as their king.

Her brother did not stop, so she gathered her skirts and ran until she reached him. She cut him off and blocked his path. He stopped then, and stared over her head.

"How dare you?" she spat, glaring at him with all the forceful anger she could muster. "You just—"

"What, Sabé?" he shot back. "Just what? I just _saved our world_."

"Hardly. What you did was undermine a democratic legacy that has lasted for over five _centuries_on this planet."

"Maybe you missed it, Sabé, but that already happened this morning on Coruscant."

"Not by you. Amidala would never have done what you just did out there."

"Then for the sake of Naboo it's a good thing that she is no longer on the throne," he challenged.

She reached up and smacked him.

Richard turned his face at the strike, his jaw clenched. "Do you really think I relished what just happened, Sabé? Do you really think I was just waiting for the chance to seize the throne for all of time? I hate it every bit as much as you do, but to keep our people _alive_it is the only way."

"You don't know that. You don't know what's going to happen. The Jedi—"

"—have been slaughtered. They were scattered across the stars and now they will become little more than a legend. Instead, they will send garrisons, and warships, and cruel taskmasters to command them. You know I'm right," he said, cutting her off when she opened her mouth to protest. He looked off into the distance again. "It's the only way he can hope to hold onto this precious new empire of his."

He pushed by her, and she turned, angry and heartbroken, to watch her little brother walk away, hating what he had done and hating him even more for being right.

Richard paused and looked back over his shoulder a little. "Let them remember me with scorn as they remember Amidala with love. For the sake of what I have preserved here today, I am willing to pay that price."

Then he was gone, and shortly after, a very uncomfortable-looking group of statesmen dissipated, heading their various ways.

Sabé ran. She ran, not even knowing where she wanted to go. Her foosteps carried her first to the balcony where she and Richard had used to spend time when they were younger. It was closed off, and she remembered that it had recently been damaged in the attempt on Yvenne's and Sioned's lives. Then she went to the royal suites that Padmé had occupied in her time as queen. They were out of use now, and the site of them did nothing to allay her distress. They reminded her of a time when things had been simpler, when they were all barely more than children, and the universe had been drawn in comfortable lines that separated right from wrong.

By the time she finally descended to the grotto ballroom, it was well past midday, and she was too tired to run anymore. Now she was merely wandering. The vast underground cavern, where Richard and Yvenne had been married, carried for Sabé a more comforting association. It was here that Ben had first embraced her with love.

She went to the edge of the massive cave and sat on the far side, her back against the smoothed wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. For almost two hours she gazed at the waterfalls in the valley below and mourned the past in all its many complexions, wishing she had Ben with her now, desperately afraid that he had died and she would never know.

She was still sitting there when Claria finally found her.

"You need to eat something," her sister said, sitting down beside her.

"How did you find me?"

"Maité was discreetly following you, but she didn't feel comfortable intruding, so she came to me." Claria took a deep breath and joined Sabé in her survey of the landscape. "What a beautiful place," she remarked. "I've always tried not to take it for granted."

"I think there are a lot of things we took for granted," Sabé muttered into her knees.

"Yes." Claria seemed thoughtful, sober. "Do you think he's right? About the warships and garrisons and everything?"

"Yes. Dictatorship does not really require much in the way of finesse or creativity."

"I suppose not." Claria looked over at Sabé. "What can we do?"

"We find a way to resist."

"How?"

"It's only been half a day, Claria. I can hardly tell you." She thought about what Padmé had confided, about the group of concerned senators on Coruscant, and wondered what, if anything, they had discussed toward this most nightmarish end.

Looking at her sister, it was her turn to frown in concern. "You look tired."

"That's because I am. It's been a very eventful few weeks."

Sabé listened as Claria told her about living through the assassination attempts, about Ceidron's former lover Jessa Kennich, the surprise fact of his living daughter, and the grief he was now enduring.

"I am so worried about him, Sabé, and— I'm worried about us. He's never been comfortable here, and now all of this. I'm afraid it might put a wedge between us that I don't know how to bridge."

Sabé reached out her arms and she and Claria fell into a mutual embrace. Claria quietly cried on her shoulder and, for the first time, Sabé let her own silent tears fall. "I'm sorry you've had to go through so much," she said to her sister. We're together now, though. And maybe after her baby is born, Padmé will come home too."

"I hope so."

"I suppose we're not solving anything hiding down here, crying in a cave, are we?"

Claria gave a shaky laugh and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her nose. "No, not really. I should get back and see how Larkin is doing. Maybe Ceidron is back now."

They ascended back up into the palace proper. Sabé took her leave of her little sister and made her way wearily to her quarters. She ordered a dinner to be brought to her privately, and decided that a long, hot bath and an early night's sleep were a good prescription for self-comfort.

She was just beginning to brush out her hair when Maité stepped into the room. "My lady," she said, "there's an encrypted message for you. I don't recognize the source."

Sabé frowned. "I'll take it in here, Maité, thank you."

She put down her brush and pulled up the message console next to her vanity. The message was text only, and Sabé gasped a little when she recognized the data string that served for a source of origin. With trembling fingers, she entered in the passcode. She hadn't used it in a very long time, but it was not the sort of thing she would ever forget.

The message was short, but filled Sabé with a violent joy and terror all in one moment.

_I am alive. Meet me at Polis Massa as soon as possible. Tell no one. Padmé is in danger._

~ Ben

* * *

**A/N:** I'll hang my head in shame properly _after_ I post the next chapter.


	9. Polis Massa

**Note: This is the 2nd of a back-to-back double update**. **Make sure you've read Chapter 8 "Empire" first, in case you missed it**.

* * *

**Chapter Nine - **_**Polis Massa**_

The day continued to be a poor one for Richard. After his fight with Sabé, he fought with his naysayers on the Council. Then he fought with the Senate on the Klion matter. Then he fought with his brother-in-law. Then he fought with his wife.

When he finally fell into an uneasy sleep— alone— he was most unhappy to be awoken what seemed a few short hours later.

"Your pardon, sire. The Chan— the former Chancellor is calling."

"It's nice to know that we're always going to be high on his priority list," Richard muttered as he crawled out of bed.

He made himself presentable and then hastened to his office, where, with a sickness in the pit of his stomach, he gathered his resolve and stepped onto the holo pad.

"King Richard."

Richard swallowed. The sight of the old man's face, shriveled and ghastly, complimented the nausea he was feeling. "Emperor Palpatine," he choked out. It was so hard not to wince.

Palpatine chuckled with smug glee. "Good, good," he crowed. "I can see that you will not be one in need of remedial education, Richard."

Richard focused on a place on the wall slightly beyond the shimmering image of the cowering emperor. "To what do I owe the honor?" he asked.

"Formal reorganization will take place forthwith. I would not trouble you in the middle of the night for such a trifle. But I am concerned about the whereabouts of Senator Amidala."

"My sister?" Richard asked, now looking the old man fully in the eye again. "What about her?"

"She has disappeared and her husband is most anxious about her well-being."

Richard's eyes widened. "Husband?"

"I believe you are both acquainted. Former Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker. The only one loyal among all of the Jedi and my new right hand for justice."

So this day was not finished with its surprises. So Padmé had been married all along. She had not shamed the Naberrie name. He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them he said, as calmly as possible, "I was unaware they had been wed. And I have not heard from Padmé. I do not know where she is."

Palpatine studied him for a very long time. "I believe you are telling the truth, which is fortunate for you, Your Majesty. If you discover her fate, you will report to me immediately. That is a command from your emperor."

"Yes," Richard said, and almost pried his teeth apart to add, "my lord."

The transmission ended without so much as a good evening. Richard let out a long breath of relief and stepped away.

His mind was too full to go back to sleep. He left the offices and began wandering the gallery. The vaulted marble and glass corridors had done much to sooth his mind in the past, but he suspected such would not be the case this evening. At least he didn't have to hide anymore.

He was passing by the press lobby when he noticed a solitary figure emerging from the quiet of the broadcast booth. "Lady Nashira," he said, surprised. "I would not have expected to find you here at this late hour."

She gave a polite curtsey. "Your Majesty. Forgive me, I was taking the liberty of trying to reach my family. My personal communications console lacked the necessary power."

"Of course. Were you successful?"

"No, my lord.

"You don't seem overly concerned."

"I had hoped to reach them, but if my people do not want to be found, they will break their secrecy for no one, least of all a rogue element such as myself. I am sure they are safe. It is me who is in need of comfort."

"I presume that your people would not approve of what has happened in the galaxy today."

"Certainly not, my lord, though we held lofty, disapproving opinions toward the Republic as well."

He smiled. "I see. Anarchists?"

"Pacifists. Elitists. Idealists."

"That combination is too fragile for reality."

"Only if we continue to let it be so."

Richard did not have the energy to carry on the debate, so he let the matter drop. The gallery came to an end at the head of the palace's central grand staircase, which descended to their left. Straight ahead was an interior balcony that had a broad view over the western end of the building and the levels below. Richard leaned against the balcony railing and put his head in his hands, sighing deeply.

Lady Nashira came to stand beside him, a quiet shadow in his peripheral vision. She reached out and put a comforting hand on his forearm. Gently, she tugged his hand away and clasped it. "Do not distress yourself overmuch, my lord. The decisions you have made have been the best for your people. Let no one tell you otherwise."

He turned his head to look at her, grateful. They seemed to be the only encouragement of any kind he had received in the past few days. Looking back, he realized that Lady Nashira was about the only person he couldn't count as a detractor in the past few _months_.

"You do not have to bear this all pressure alone, Richard. There are many here to help you." She looked down briefly, with a quiet, daring resolve and then fixed him boldly with her eyes. "And you don't have to be lonely. I can help you there too."

She leaned up slightly and kissed him softly on the lips. Richard was only partly surprised. He had received her insinuation with perfect clarity, but he would have supposed she would wait to see his reaction before going any further. His response was reflexive, encouraging. He even turned his body slightly toward and took a small step closer to her. His hands were halfway up to take her by the arms when he closed his eyes and pulled shamefully away.

He turned away from her and focused on the lights of the city through the window.

"I have offended you?" She did not seem overly concerned by his rejection.

"Yes."

"Your relationship with the queen has been... strained, of late. And I have always found you to my taste. A ruler with such pressures as yourself is in need of physical release, so I thought—"

"Maybe such conduct is considered acceptable among the Fallanassi," Richard said. "But among the Naboo, monogamy is a cherished tradition. I have broken faith with my people today. Now, thanks to you, I've now broken faith with my family as well."

"As you say, I am not Naboo."

"But you are a guest of this court, and I would remind you to take remembrance of that. Good evening, madam. Please do not solicit my company again."

Now she did seem affronted, but she held it all behind a composed mask and drew herself up straight. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Richard stood there a while longer after she had gone. It was undoubtedly the worst day of his life.

In the morning, they told him that Sabé had disappeared.

* * *

Sabé had never really learned how to pilot. If she had tried to sneak away from Naboo without telling anyone, she probably would have killed herself. So despite Ben's cautionary admonishment, she was obliged to request help from at least one person. It had been several years since she had last seen Hugh Panaka, but she would always trust him with her life, or anyone else's whom she loved.

"Thank you so much for helping me, Captain," she said, when they were finally on their way. Getting away from Naboo without raising a fuss had presented something of an obstacle, and Sabé had been forced to use her security clearance on the pretense that she was hastening back to Coruscant on Richard's behalf.

"Anything for the Senator," he replied. He checked over some of his readings. "There's a major shipping hub on Chandra IV we can use to get another ship, one that no one will know how to trace."

"Of course." Sabé hated the idea of delaying their journey any further, but she conceded the wisdom of this suggestion. "And Chandra IV is closer to Naboo than not. No one will suppose Polis Massa as our destination."

"Just so, Your Highness," he said with an approving smile.

She couldn't help but return the gesture. "Between the tutelage of Jedi Masters and Hugh Panaka, I think I've learned a thing or two."

They spent the journey between long stretches of anxious silence and spurts of small talk to fill the void. Sabé questioned him about his retirement and his grandchildren, and he asked her about life away from Naboo, about her famous mission to Jenispra three years prior, and about Padmé's welfare. He did not ask how she had come by the information that had prompted their midnight jaunt offworld.

The switch on Chandra IV went smoothly. They acquired a small, sturdy, and—most importantly— unregistered personal transport ship and headed off for Polis Massa. Sabé had never been to that system before. She found it a sad sight— all those asteroids and so little to tell that a beautiful civilization had once existed here.

"Did your contact say where to go? There are many excavation sites."

"Not specifically. Start with the main base. We'll find him." As Panaka began steering the ship toward her instructed destination, she added, more quietly, "No doubt he'll find me first."

* * *

Obi-Wan had not slept in days. He was haggard and bedraggled had been surviving on adrenaline and long years of exploiting the Force. This would probably not last much longer, but he was afraid to sleep. He was afraid of his dreams. It was an irrational thought, for how could any nightmare possibly be as harrowing as the one he was living now?

Anakin had slaughtered the Jedi. Anakin had surrendered to the Dark Side. The Republic was in shambles. Everything Obi-Wan had ever believed, everything he had ever stood for, fought for, bled for, was gone, trampled into the dust like refuse.

He had failed. He had been given charge of shaping the man that Anakin Skywalker would become. Where had he gone wrong? Should he have been harder, or easier? Should he have just ignored Qui-Gon and heeded Master Yoda all along? Anakin had been too dangerous to train. They had been right since the beginning.

His nightmares would be full of fire.

To cling to his sanity, he clung to small points of hope, small points of control. Padmé was still alive, and if the Force looked kindly on him, Sabé was on her way.

The former hope was the most fragile. Padmé breathed, but she did not awaken, and the medical experts on Polis Massa had no explanation. But they had not witnessed Anakin try to smother her in a fit of mad rage. There was more to the Force than just the effect on the body. Obi-Wan could only suppose that something had affected her mind. A darkness he did not know how to counter. He wished desperately that one of the great healers at the temple were with him now, to help him find answers. But they were probably all dead too.

He did his best. He spent long hours with Padmé, searching the unfathomable void inside of her, trying to find the door, praying she would forgive him if ever she woke. But the only thing he knew for certain was that the mysterious threads that bound spirit to body were dangerously thin, and the two small souls still waiting for their chance at life were the only things that were holding her together.

He knew immediately when Sabé entered the system. Her presence pricked the edges of his consciousness, the only warm color he had felt there in a week.

"I'll be back," he assured Padmé, patting her warm but immobile hand and hurrying from the room.

He ran as fast as he could to the base's control station. "Chief Wannauk, let that vessel pass," he said. The control team was already halfway through their protocols for unexpected arrivals. "It's the Senator's sister. Tell them to land in the private bays."

"Yes, Master Kenobi."

From the edge of the hanger, he watched the small vessel land, and threw any pretense of patience out the window. He was too tired to be patient. Sabé was here. Maybe she could help. But mostly, she was _here_.

The gangplank came to rest on the hangar floor and Sabé descended, looking around uncertainly. She was dressed in a plan jumpsuit. Her hair was pulled back, but otherwise loose and uncharacteristically unkempt, as if she had left Naboo with almost no preparation. He stepped forward and the motion caught her eye. She saw him, and relief broke out on her face.

He ran to her. He did not care at all who was watching. Even Master Yoda could be watching for all he knew, but it did not matter anymore.

"Ben," she said, her voice breaking. Desperate joy and grief and release were all mingled into the appellation. "You're alive!"

He pulled her tightly close and crushed his lips into hers.

* * *

In that moment, Sabé fully knew how much things had changed, how some compunctions had become utterly unimportant. It was almost painful, how hard he kissed her, but she felt much the same, as though some sort of wall needed to be broken down to allow them to be even closer.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely when he finally pulled away, resting his forehead on hers.

He looked even older than he had when he'd left Coruscant. There were gray hairs in his beard. What had happened to him?

"Are you all right?" she asked, reaching up to cradle his face with her hands.

He gave a harsh laugh. "No. Nothing is all right." He took her head and pulled her into his chest. "But now I am far better than I was before."

She wanted to collapse there, to let him hold her forever, but she was mindful of the many eyes all around. She breathed his scent deeply, and then forced herself to pull away. Looking over her shoulder, she noted Panaka, standing at the bottom of the gangplank, looking surprised and uncomfortable. He caught her eye and looked hastily away.

"Where is Padmé?" she asked, turning back to Ben.

"This way," he said, reaching down to take her hand. "I'll take you to her."

She found her sister lying in a cold, sterile room, surrounded by monitors and med droids. "Oh, Padmé," Sabé whispered. "What happened?"

"Anakin happened," Ben replied simply. "I will tell you everything, when I am able."

A steady tapping sound came towards them from the other end of the room. Sabé turned and gave a start of surprise. "Master Yoda."

"Glad I am to find you free from harm in this place, Princess." He rested his hands on top of his walking stick and regarded her with the shrewd, fond wisdom common to all those who had seen their share of years in the galaxy. "Though how you found us is a matter of some curiosity." Here he turned a gaze of mild chastisement to Ben, who merely gripped Sabé's had more firmly.

Sabé turned to Yoda's companion. "Senator Organa. Polis Massa is full of surprises."

"Indeed it is, Princess."

"Were you in attendance when—" she broke off. It was still too difficult to acknowledge Palpatine's betrayal in words.

Bail gave a solemn acknowledgement. "We both were," he said, looking at Padmé. "It was not a moment I will soon forget."

"What is wrong with her?" Sabé asked quietly.

"There is something broken in her mind," Ben said. "I cannot explain it, except that I think her brush with the Dark Side inside of Anakin has shattered the integrity of her life force."

"Will she die?" Sabé stepped forward and put her hand on the glass.

His silence was all the answer she needed, and a sob choked up inside her throat. She clenched her fingers against the pane.

Ben put a hand on her shoulder. "I will continue to try and heal her, but the prospect is not good. I am so sorry, Sabé."

Sabé struggled a moment until she regained a bit of composure. "What about the baby?"

"They're both fine. It won't be long now."

She turned to him, eyes wide. "They?"

For the first time, he smiled. "Twins."

The moment of joy was water in a desert, miraculous. "Twins," she echoed. "That is precious news."

"You know, that glass is only part of the facility's design," Bail advised. "You are not beholden to stay behind it."

"Visit your sister, you may, Princess," said Yoda gently. "Good it would be for her, I think."

Ben let go of her hand and reached up to squeeze her shoulder. "Go to her, Sabé. I will wait here."

An hour later, after Sabé had been sterilized to the medical droids' satisfaction, she slipped quietly in to visit her sister. She pulled up a stool to the side of the bed and took her seat.

"A lot has happened, hasn't it?" she said, brushing one stray strand of hair away from Padmé's forehead. "More than I can really understand. Ben told me everything about Palpatine. How does a statesmen from Naboo become a Sith Lord anyway?" She took Padmé's hand. "No more implausible than a sweet, talented boy from a poor desert planet, I suppose. But don't even get me started on what Richard has done."

A couple of tears fell from Sabé's eyes. She beat them stubbornly away with her other hand.

"Yvenne's going to have her baby any day now, too, you know. I'll be an aunt three times in one week, more than likely. Oh, and guess what? Claria has a new daughter. Sort of. Maybe I shouldn't tell you that story either, though. It's more sad than anything else. Like we need that.

"I talked to Senator Organa while I was washing up. I mentioned what you told me about your little group within the Senate. He admitted to it, of course. It's pretty brave what he's done in the middle of all of this, trying to make a refuge for the Jedi, already thinking ahead on how to thwart Palpatine. I hope that he doesn't suffer for it later. But I think you and I both know that it's a price some of us are going to have to be willing to pay."

Sabé smiled and squeezed Padmé's hand. "Oh, I can hear anyway. 'Some of 'us' you say?' Yes, Padmé, I will be a rebel. Just like my big sister. I will pick up my blaster and fight when I have to."

She turned sober. "The Jedi are worried about these babies, did you know? Your secret's out. They know about Anakin. I guess their concern is that the children will inherit his talent. Palpatine could use them as weapons against us. Or we could use them as weapons against him. Can you believe it? They're just babies and already these people are putting all kinds of burdens on their shoulders. Well, don't you worry. If you don't wake up, I will make sure they are taken care of, Padmé, I promise. They won't be Anakin, or Helaine, or all the other children, ripped from their families. Maybe they are Jedi prodigies or something, but they're Naberrie too."

With her free hand, Sabé reached out and stroked Padmé's hair again comfortingly. Her skin was warm, and she looked more peaceful, somehow.

Sabé kept talking to Padmé until she too fell asleep, her head resting on the bed by her sister's side.

* * *

Richard took breakfast alone that morning. He was little able to do anything except sip distractedly on a tall glass of plomb juice, unable to escape from the fact that a few hours ago he had almost turned his back on his marriage.

But he could hardly blame that on a moment. His offenses had been building on that score for some time. Everything in his life was wrong right now. Maybe he could take the trouble to start making something right. He just had to work up the nerve.

Barris entered the room with nary a sound.

"Any news on my sisters?" Richard asked.

"No, sire. We traced Princess Vána's ship to Chandra IV, but no further."

Richard let out a sigh. "Good." He was worried, but he did not want to have to try to lie to a Sith Lord. He was almost positive that Sabé's disappearance had something to do with Padmé's. The longer they both remained hidden, the better.

He hadn't told anyone about Padmé's marriage. He suspected that was a fact better left in secrecy as well.

After breakfast, he suffered an update from his press secretary. "As we might have expected, sire, the public reaction to the new restrictions you've imposed have been diverse and polarizing."

"And how well balanced are these poles?" Richard asked dryly.

"Most of the planet is cautiously supportive."

"But the ones who aren't will be dangerous. To Naboo and to themselves." Richard rubbed his face tiredly. "But I really can't feel it in my heart to feel a lot of blame."

"Lord Ceidron has made a public statement in denouncement of your decision."

"Of course he did." Ciedron would not have been able to stomach even the appearance of apathy.

"Should I arrange an audience with him, sire?"

"No. Let him be, for now."

"Lady Nashira requested an appointment."

"I have no wish to see her."

It didn't occur to him until later to ask when she had made that request, before or after the previous night's incident.

He watched some news feeds and then walked around the palace for a while, nervous and dejected. Finally, he went in search of his wife. When he went to the royal quarters, he was surprised to find that Yvenne had a guest.

"Réka." It had been some months since he had seen Yvenne's cousin. Beautiful and proud, Réka had once captured his interest, before Yvenne's substance had revealed and then eclipsed Réka's vanity. The memory of his attraction did little to help his mood in light of certain considerations.

"Your Majesty," she said, rising to her feet and bowing respectfully with her head.

From the floor near Réka's feet, Sioned shot to her feet and ran over. "Daddy!"

Richard smiled for what felt like the first time in days. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, picking her up in a big hug.

"What are you doing here?" he asked Réka when he put his daughter down again.

"I came to see how my cousin is doing and to play with my littler cousin," she said primly. She held out a hand puzzle to Sioned.

Sioned was clearly excited. "Again!" she cried, jumping up and down.

"It is not that difficult."

"Where is Yvenne?"

"She is resting, or so the servants tell me." With delicate fingers, Réka pulled open the puzzle again. "This piece," she said importantly, is the key. "Without it, none of the others will hold together."

Sioned clearly did not understand, but she followed Réka's movements carefully.

"Will you stay with Sioned? I have to talk to my wife."

"Certainly. I am happy to help."

Eyeing her cautiously, Richard left the grand sitting room and proceeded deeper into the apartment. The luxurious carpet muffled his footsteps.

He found Yvenne in the new baby's nursery, sitting in the hover chair, humming. She looked up when she saw him, and to Richard's surprise, smiled. This only made him feel worse. "Good morning," she said.

He sat down on the footstool that accompanied the chair. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit uncomfortable," she admitted.

"I'm sorry for that. How can I help?"

"Keep me company."

"All right. But—"

"But what, Richard?"

"I'm afraid I came here with an intention opposite of making you comfortable."

"What do you mean?"

"I—" he hardly knew how to begin. "You're not happy here, are you Yvenne?"

Her humming faltered and she looked a little bit sad. "It hasn't been easy," she admitted. "I hadn't—"

"Hadn't what?"

"I just hadn't expected to feel like I was doing this alone, is all."

"What do you mean by 'this' exactly?"

She looked at him. "Our marriage, Richard. Oh, I know you're the king and I knew that it would take up so much of your time, but I wanted to be your sanctuary, and you have never let me be."

"I didn't want to take my work home with me."

She laughed softly. "With any other man I might concede the point, but you are hardly just anyone. Your work, your home. They're all the same. Your home is here. When I said that I would marry you, I expected we would be doing it together."

"I don't know what I expected it to be," he confessed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his hands together distractedly. "With the exception of the siege, Padmé's terms were flourishing successes of peace and prosperity. And even her dark moment turned into a glorious triumph. She made it look so easy. I wanted that."

"And instead you got a galactic civil war and a cruel new taskmaster."

"I think we would have done better if she were still on the throne."

"I suspect at the end of the day that Padmé would have been forced to make the same decisions that you have."

"Maybe. But she would have done it better. Somehow."

Yvenne made no further comment, but resumed humming.

"I'm sorry, Yvenne," he finally said. He felt as though he were standing outside his body, watching his lips move of their own accord. For some reason, that made it easier.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't the man I promised you I'd be when we married. I have failed you at every turn." After another beat, he took a breath and said, "I permitted another woman to kiss me last night."

Yvenne fell quiet again. "Lady Nashira?"

"Yes. I—stopped her, but not before I should have. I came to ask your forgiveness." He looked up at her, pleading. "I love you, Yvenne. That much has never changed, even though I would understand if you don't believe it. So all I have left is to pathetically beg you to give me another chance."

He held his breath. Yvenne's expression was impossible to read. He couldn't decide how hurt or surprised she was. She seemed so impossibly serene.

Finally, she said, "I forgive you, Richard."

He swallowed. "Why?"

"Because if you hadn't told me, I never would have known."

He reached out and took her hand. "Thank you." After a moment of awkward silence, he asked, "What are you doing tonight? Do you— do you think we could have dinner? Talk some more?"

"Not tonight. I have other plans."

"You do? What are they?"

"Mmmn. Motherhood. I'm afraid I will be much occupied with having a baby."

He stared at her. "You—"

She gave a dry laugh. "I'm in labor, Richard. Why do you think I've been sitting here in a room in the dark, humming to myself and breathing hard?"

* * *

"Sabé."

It was warm and wonderful being asleep. It was safe, and everything was peaceful and there wasn't any pain. Sabé shifted and decided to ignore whatever had made her even remember she _was_ sleeping.

"Sabé, wake up."

"No," she protested.

"Padmé is awake."

Her eyes snapped open. "Ben?"

"I'm sorry to wake you. But she's asking for you. There isn't much time."

Sabé scrambled out of bed, momentarily disoriented. "Where am I?"

"We found you some quarters. You fell asleep."

"I'm awake now. Sort of. What about my sister?"

Ben led the way out the door. "She's still declining, but it appears like she mustered enough strength to bring these children into the world on her own. I assumed you would want to be there."

They hurried through the base. When they reached the medical facilities, Sabé ignored the protesting medical droids admonishing her to scrub herself again and hurried into the room she'd left only hours before.

Padmé reached out a hand. "Sabé," she said with a sad, tired smile.

"Hello, you." Sabé clasped her sister's hand and tried to look happy and brave.

Padmé's face screwed up in pain. She took a couple of heavy, steadying breaths and squeezed Sabé's hand very tightly. When the moment had passed, she relaxed her grip again. "I was so happy when they told me you were here."

"The contractions are coming quickly," the nanny droid said from where she was monitoring near Padmé's feet. Another droid was setting up a modesty screen around Padmé's bent knees. "This will not last much longer."

"I don't have much time."

"No," said Sabé firmly. "You're awake now, and you can stay that way."

Padmé shook her head. "I wish I could, but—" she gasped in pain again. "Obi-Wan was right. Something is wrong. I feel like I've been poisoned. Anakin—"

"I'll never forgive him for this," Sabé said.

"Maybe he doesn't deserve forgiveness," Padmé acknowledged. "But he will need it, someday." A tear rolled down her cheek. "And he already has mine. Love is so foolish, isn't it?"

Sabé smiled. "Yes, yes it is."

"You will take care of them?"

"I promise."

Padmé gave a relieved nod. "Then it is enough."

After the next contraction, Sabé said, "Can I tell you a secret?"

"What is it?" Padmé seemed grateful for the distraction.

"I'm in love with Obi-Wan."

Her sister gave a couple of weak chuckles. "I heard about that."

"Already?"

"From Master Yoda, when Obi-Wan went to fetch you. He's quite a gossip. I heard you two made quite a scene."

Sabé smiled.

"I am happy for you. Be happy on my behalf, Sabé."

"I will."

"Tell Richard and Claria—"

"I know. I will."

"I love you, Sabé."

Sabé brought Padmé's hand to her mouth and squeezed it tightly.

"It is time," said the nanny droid.

An hour later, Padmé lay still on the table, covered in a sheet. Sabé held a very pink infant in her arms and an ache in her heart.

"Luke and Leia." A few feet away, Ben was holding her nephew in his arms, rocking him gently as he walked slowly around the room. There was something in his eyes that Sabé had never seen before. It brought a welcome warmth to her insides.

"Luke comes from an ancient Naboo word for 'light'," she said tiredly. She looked down at her niece. "And Leia is for Leiandra."

"Your mother."

"Yes."

Sabé stroked Leia's downy tuft of hair. "Hello there," she whispered.

"What are you going to do now?" Ben asked her.

"I promised Padmé I would take care of these two," Sabé said. "But I've been thinking about what that means." She met his eye. "Palpatine would consider them a threat, wouldn't he?"

"Yes."

"Then it would be best if he and everyone else believes that they died with her."

Ben was very solemn as he regarded her. "That is a hard decision."

"Do you think it is wrong?"

"No. I think it would protect a lot of people." He hesitated.

"Do you have something to say?"

"Master Yoda and Senator Organa and I have been discussing it. The decision would be yours, ultimately, but would you be willing to hear our advice?"

Sabé didn't like the sad look in his eyes. She consented warily. Ben put Luke in the nearby crib and pulled a chair close to where she was sitting. "Master Yoda and I are going into hiding," he told her. "For all we know, we represent the very last of the Jedi ways. That knowledge must be preserved, and if we disappear, Palpatine is more likely to think us dead."

"He will never completely give up."

"No. But his reach isn't as long as he'd like to dream."

"Where will you go?"

"I have something in mind, but I'm not firmly settled yet." He took a deep breath. "Sabé, we think it our best chance would to separate the children."

She recoiled. "Explain what you mean by 'our' best chance, Ben."

"The Emperor is a Sith lord, only a strong Force-weilder could hope to defeat him."

"Then you and Master Yoda go and do it." Sabé tightened her arms around Leia.

"We've already failed."

"You have no right to place a burden like that on these children."

"I know." He closed his eyes, looking haggard. Then he looked at her. "But I have good reason to do it anyway."

"Not if I don't let you."

"Either way they will need protecting. You can rest assured that the Emperor will not be sensitive to your objections."

She swallowed. "Anakin didn't know there were two," she said slowly, stroking her niece's tuft of fuzzy hair. "Which means if Palpatine found one, the gods forbid it, the other would at least be spared."

"Yes."

"We ought not to hide them on Naboo."

"No."

"Where then?"

"Senator Organa expressed a willingness to adopt Leia. He and his wife have been planning on adopting a daughter for some while. The timing would not be suspect."

Sabé looked at Leia's face. "Alderaan. Padmé would approve. And the Organas are fine people." She gave a shaky nod and looked over at the crib. "What about Luke?"

"Anakin had a family of sorts on Tatooine. His mother died some years ago, and her husband, but his stepbrother is still there. He's newly married. They're honest people."

"I never knew that," Sabé said. "But don't you think that's risky? Isn't that the sort of place Palpatine is sure to look?"

Ben crossed his arms and stroked his mustache. "Perhaps. But I believe the risk is minimal. As pressing as he might consider the threat, he will also be much occupied in the next few years to think much on Anakin's distant past. I think it is important that the children have some connection to their father... as he was. He looked at Sabé. And their mother."

Sabé caught her breath.

"On Tatooine it will be easy for me to hide. To disappear, even. I can watch Luke, keep an eye on him from afar, begin to guide him early if I am able." He met her eyes. "I don't have to do it alone. I don't wish to. If you would—"

"If I would come with you. To Tatooine? Run away and hide from everything in the middle of the desert?" She let out a breath that seemed to have been inside her for seven years. "Yes. In a heartbeat, Ben."

His eyes twinkled. "I was going to say 'if you would marry me' but yes, all of that was implied. You wouldn't consider it a dereliction of duty?"

"Marry you?" The words seemed to stick in her throat. She had long ago resigned the thought to be forever unspoken. Part of her was unwilling to surrender them to hope.

"There is no more Jedi Order. And I believe that what might be reborn should be fashioned into something new. Something better. Something that is not afraid of family. Sabé— would you marry a tired old man?"

She leaned over and kissed him. "You know I will. And to answer your question, no, I don't feel like I'm running away. Our charge would be high, after all, protecting Luke, even Leia, if we can from time to time.

"Besides. I think we've earned it."

* * *

Well, my chapters may be infrequent, but at least they're long!

I have a confession. I'm stuck on this story. I vaguely know what needs to happen, but ZERO motivation to write it. In the event that I never update, I trust I at least left it in a quasi-satisfactory state. ;-)

But, who knows. At one point I wasn't planning on writing it at all, and I've come this far. We shall see.


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